Love Never Dies?
by Flaming-Bee
Summary: An alternate LND - Christine couldn't help but return; she'd shattered his heart, any pain he'd endured was down to her. But what was supposed to be one night of passion ends in life-long consequences...
1. Prologue

_**November 1881 (3 months after the events of POTO)**_

There had never been a sky quite as deep and dark as that one, Paris was engulfed in it. Not a soul was to be found in the frosty breath of the night. All had retreated to their homes, tucked away from nature's forces yet again. Only a single set of footsteps were echoing across the cobbles as a young woman walked swiftly, determined to get to her destination. She glanced behind every few seconds, as though waiting to be followed or caught, although she needn't have feared for no one came.

The girl turned the final corner of the street she was on, breathing heavily from her excursions and anxieties. Finally she stopped outside an old warehouse that had been boarded up long ago after the owner had died without warning. Cautiously stepping forward, she first peered through a crack in the wooden planks blocking the window, only to be met by complete darkness... And yet her eyes could've sworn there was movement? Perhaps hope was fooling her eyes but never the less she persisted with her search as her eyes shifted to the entrance. She noted that the brass knob on the door looked less dusty than the rest of the exterior... As though it had been in use? She let a smile cross her lips as she took a deep breath before twisting the handle to allow herself entrance. She stepped inside briskly before pulling the door shut once more, banishing the harsh exterior conditions.

The darkness that met her was practically impossible to navigate, but her eyes slowly adjusted. She let her eyes search once more for any signs of humanity, noticing a smoking candle on top of a sheet-covered crate. Curious, the woman stepped forward slowly like a nervous animal. Aloud creak occurred as she stepped on one of the lose floorboards, causing her to wince and stop. A few seconds past as she waited to be caught but nothing happened. Sighing with relief, she persisted to head toward the crate slightly quicker this time and reached out. The wick of the candle was still warm to the touch – she knew it had to be him...

"Christine Daae..." She jumped at the sound of the voice from behind her. He said the words softly and with slight disbelief. "I must admit, I wasn't expecting a visit, especially not from you..." He must have composed himself by now, for these words were spoken with much more strength, like the Phantom she was used to, but the hints of sarcasm were unexpected. She swallowed back her fear before turning to face her maestro once more. He was just as she remembered leaving him that time three months ago, only his mask and wig were both in place to hide the twisted flesh beneath.

"I needed to know you'd gotten away, that you were alive..." Christine's voice was hoarse as she tried to stop gawking at him like he was visiting from beyond the grave. She tried to reach out and touch him but he immediately stepped away.

"Well now you know, so return to your boy at once and forget me as I asked you..." He wouldn't look at her as he spoke in a voice which displayed no emotion. Didn't he care for her anymore?

"Raoul won't miss me just yet," She spoke softly, taking care not to make any sudden movements. It was like the caution one would take when with a wild animal. "I'm not staying with him for tonight. You see, he sent me to a hotel before tomorrow morning..." She closed her eyes to take a deep breath before saying the next few words: "We are to be married tomorrow morning..."

"And what, you came to hand deliver my invitation did you!" He spat the words at her as he stomped to come nose to nose with her. "You thought I'd enjoy the heart-warming ceremony between Christine Daae and her brave young suitor!" Christine was shaking, finding it increasingly hard not to fear his anger. She closed her eyes to try yet again to bury her fright before turning back so as to look him in the eye...

"I came to say goodbye," He had begun to face away but she reached over to gently brush his cheek."I couldn't leave my angel without a word, could I?"

"I'm no angel!" He shrieked, grabbing her wrist and throwing her arm away. He stumbled back to the wall, slamming his fists against it. Christine ran forward and grabbed his shoulders, trying to pull him away; he slammed the wall a few times more before finally stopping. After a deep sigh, he looked up at her with tear-filled eyes. "Why do you care anymore, Christine?" He slumped to sit on a nearby crate, placing his face in his hands which muffled his speech slightly. "Something like me isn't worthy of real love, I'm not even worthy of your pity... Oh, Christine..."

It broke Christine's heart to see him sob like this. She walked over and crouched down beside him, softly resting one hand on his knee while the other rubbed his thigh sympathetically. "You have always been my angel... and nothing in the world will change that," The hand that had been rubbing his thigh reached up for his hand and she lightly pressed a kiss to his knuckles. "And I'll never stop caring... I promise."

She wasn't sure how it happened, but the next thing Christine knew she leant forward and kissed his bloated lips. At first it was gentle and innocent, but the longer it lasted the more passionate and forceful her lips were against his. He stood up quickly, his eyes wide as he looked down at her with a confused expression; "What is Christine doing?"

She pulled herself up next to him, grasping his arms and leaning in to his ear. "What I should've done three months ago..." She leant down slightly and began softly kissing his neck, causing him to shudder in ecstasy. She linked her fingers with his and slowly placed his hands round her waist, never breaking contact from his neck. She let her own hands begin to explore his body, finding the buttons on his shirt; she slowly began to unbutton it before she felt a hand tip her chin up to look up into those beautiful pale blue eyes.

"Christine shouldn't be doing this to a half-faced beast; she is to be married in the morning,"

Christine smiled, her eyes gazing lovingly up at him. "Christine doesn't see a half-faced beast here. She can only see her handsome angel, and right now he's the only one that matters..."

And she meant every word of it. If anyone had brought up the name Raoul De Chagny that night, the young Miss Daae wouldn't have known it. That night she came to know only one man and she made sure to cherish every moment of it...

%%%

Erik awoke to the dank, dusty conditions of the old warehouse he'd called home for the past month or so, only to be met by the darkness of the early hours of the morning. It was only when he pushed himself up on his elbows and saw the scars that traced over his anatomy, as well as the naked beauty of his angel that he remembered the previous night...

Panic-stricken, Erik began scrambling about to gather his clothes together whilst trying not to wake Christine. He wouldn't allow her to see him like this, she would surely scream and run away as she had done mere months ago and having his heart broken was something he didn't plan on re-living today. Once he'd found his clothes and pulled them over himself, Erik realised his wig and mask were still missing – the two most crucial items. He easily spotted the jet black artificial hair of his wig thrown on to his make shift table on the opposite side of the room, which he pulled over his exposed skull. A sigh from across the room brought Christine back to the front of his mind as Erik turned to notice her shivering slightly. Grabbing one of the old sheets he had lying around, he walked over to her and wrapped the smooth fabric around her soft flesh; Erik couldn't resist stroking her cheek softly and brushing her chocolate curls away from her peach-coloured lips.

It was then that his gaze wandered to the solid object that lay in her hand – Christine was holding his mask in her grasp. Erik's eyes widened upon the realisation that she must've taken it off last night... And yet here she was, lying on his floor. She hadn't recoiled in horror, she hadn't screamed and she hadn't run away. Perhaps Christine had finally learnt to look beyond the flesh...

But then Erik came back to his senses as he placed his mask back over his face. The face his own mother couldn't love... How was he supposed to believe that Christine loved him now when his own flesh and blood had feared him? He had to face the reality of the situation – last night was a final show of his love to Christine, but she had surely only done any of this out of pity for him... But what wonderful pity it was.

Looking out to notice the sky beginning to lighten, he brushed his hand across the flawless flesh of her face one more time before laying a kiss among her curls. "Farewell, my Christine... Beautiful both outside and within, kind enough to pity a monster..." He smiled before whispering in her ear: "My love shall never die..."

And with that, Erik walked to the doorway and made his way out into the streets of Paris once more, peering at his angel for the final time before eventually pulling the oak door shut...

%%%

Christine twisted stiffly as she smiled to herself over the previous night's events; she'd kissed her angel. She'd kissed him and been kissed back. She could still feel the tingle of his malformed lips against her own, the shivers it had sent through her system, the joy she'd felt as they went further than she'd ever gone before...

Last night had made her realise the truth – marrying Raoul would be nothing but a massive mistake. Yes, Raoul was handsome in an obvious sort of way with his dirty blonde curls and hazel eyes, he was rich and well connected, and although he was often travelling he made up for it with romance. Most girls would've given their right arm to be his wife, but now Christine had been intimate with another, she no longer saw the appeal...

Whereas life with her maestro, her angel... She didn't even know his name and yet that was the kind of mystery that drew her towards him. He was so innocent of some aspects in life and yet he'd managed to escape a blood thirsty mob of over fifty different people without a single one of them realising he'd lived. He was a genius, but he was misunderstood... Perhaps if she could show him love, he'd finally be able to leave 'the Phantom' behind him?

Christine yawned as she sat herself up, running her hand through her curls. She blinked in the half-light of the warehouse that convinced her daylight was probably an hour off, not that it mattered. Her plans of returning to Raoul no longer mattered, not now she'd found her real lover... Although as she looked around, Christine soon realised something had to be wrong. It was silent and all of the clothes that had been alongside her's were now gone. She remembered the mask and looked down to find that too had been taken from her hand; there wasn't a trace of him left here...

"Hello!" She called out in desperation as the tears began to well up. "Are you here, my angel! Please!" She stood up and pulled her sheet up with her, rushing about the room in the hopes he'd appear. But it remained silent in the building and nothing stirred... Christine slumped onto the stone floor as she sobbed into the sheet. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks over and over as she tried to accept the truth of what had happened.

Finally she stood up and gathered all her clothing together, slipping all the garments over as quickly as she could; she'd be pushed to make it to the wedding but what choice did she have? As she stood in the doorway and looked around the abandoned room, her eyes settled on the candle she'd first seen last night. Her eyes watered once more at the memories of what they'd shared: "We would've been beautiful..."

And with that she left swiftly, leaving the pain behind...

%%%

_I promise if you read on then it won't become anything you've read before – my fabulous beta TheAustralianZombie has made sure of that (: Review for posts to continue!_


	2. Chapter I

_**November 1881**_

The small Parisian church was packed to the brim as the crowd, consisting of Raoul's family and friends, sat in anticipation of the one event they'd all been waiting for - the marriage of Raoul Vicomte de Chagny and recently ascended soprano extraordinaire Christine Daae. It had been the talk of the capital ever since the press coverage of 'The Phantom of the Opera' and with such an exclusive guest list it only made the media more interested. However this day was beginning to take a turn for the worst already as the Vicomte bit his lip and paced back and forward at the front of the congregation, wondering why it was that half an hour had already passed since the ceremony should've started, yet he was still missing his bride...

"What is taking so long?" Raoul hissed. "She should've been here by now, what does she think she's playing at!" He shook his head, taking a deep breath before finally forcing himself to a halt. He had begun to let his mind wander to what had become a serious possibility: what if she didn't turn up? He'd have to face the crowd gathered behind him and tell all of the most important business partners, oldest family friends and closest relatives that the wedding was off... Then he would have to leave the church alone in front of every eye in Paris, it would be all over the papers. Would Christine really do that to him...?

"All rise for the bride,"

Never had Raoul been so glad to have his thoughts interrupted, he couldn't help but release a loud sigh of relief as the words reached his ears. Finally the people stood in unison and Raoul got his first glimpse of his soon-to-be wife in her wedding attire; Christine's dress was simple with a white sash to tie in her waist and a long train hiding the silver slippers she wore. Her lace veil was kept in place upon her pile of chestnut curls with the single possession she still had left from her mother, a crystal hair pin which tied the whole of her elegant appearance together. She was oozing class and Raoul couldn't help but smile at the fact that soon she would be his...

Christine saw Raoul's analysing gaze as she stood at the beginning of the church aisle, her train laid out behind her. She swallowed her emotion and took her first steps towards her future... One she knew she didn't want. But she couldn't let herself think in such a way when she was so close to sealing her fate; there wasn't even another option to consider. He'd left, that was all there was to it.

"Ladies and Gentlemen; we are gathered here today to celebrate the joining of the Viscount and the beautiful Miss Christine Daae. By holding this ceremony, they have chosen to seal their commitment to one another before the eyes of God, promising to cherish and care for each other..."

Christine couldn't help but let her thoughts slip back to the events of the previous night. He'd seemed so happy, the love and adoration in his eyes through their intimacy would've been enough to confirm that. Yet here she was on what should've been the happiest day of her life feeling abandoned and used. Did she not mean enough for him to say goodbye? Perhaps there was more Phantom than man than she had originally anticipated...

She was halted in her train of thought by the sensation a warm hand clasping itself around hers and found herself looking up into Raoul's eyes, swimming with joy and a glint of pride. She silently prayed that he wouldn't see the flicker of hesitation she knew was present in her own eyes. Why wasn't she able to be content with this man? Raoul was an honourable, kind-hearted, intelligent, brave and wealthy; there was no doubt in her mind he would be able to provide her with a comfortable lifestyle. Not to mention the fact he was handsome and at least tried to be romantic, he was anything a woman could really want - he was seemingly perfect... But of course all these wonderful assets were what made her find fault in Raoul, he was safe. She already felt as though her whole life was set before her and she knew Raoul would do anything to ensure it stayed that way. She didn't want to feel trapped, Christine wanted excitement, she wanted danger... She wanted _him._

"Miss. Christine Daae," She turned her head sharply to face the vicar who had obviously finished drawling on about commitment by now and was moving on to the next part. "Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, for richer and for poorer, in sickness and in health, till death do you part?"

She closed her eyes momentarily as she pictured the darkness of the previous night's sky and the events that had taken place under it; never again. "I do," She looked up into Raoul's face and plastered a broad grin across her own, knowing in her heart this was the only choice she had no matter how it pained her. He didn't deserve to be hurt...

"And do you, Raoul de Chagny, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, for richer and poorer, in sickness and in health, till death do you part?" She nodded in what she hopped was an encouraging gesture as he lightly brushed his thumb over her hand.

"I do" Christine tried to stop the tears that wanted to fall. This was her future, she'd decided and there was no going back now; she'd need to embrace her new life or she'd be miserable forever.

"Who has the rings?" As Raoul's cousin stepped forward, Christine began to tremble slightly; the metal felt cold and harsh against her flesh as it was slid up her finger. She reached for the other ring and did likewise, taking slightly longer due to her shaking hand. "If any person should know a reason why these two should not be wed, may they speak now or forever hold their peace." Christine bit her lip; what if someone knew! What if they'd seen her leaving the warehouse that morning? But then she listened and found there was music to her eyes: utter silence. The priest finally finished: "Then by the power invested in me, I pronounce you man and wife. You may now kiss the bride." Christine's shared a chaste kiss with Raoul, thoughts of who'd been the last person to touch her lips racing through her mind as she did so, then finally the couple turned to walk back down the aisle.

And as the two left the church, Christine continued to smile sweetly, waving to the crowd that had gathered to watch the infamous newly-weds exit. Raoul kept her on his left arm and occasionally giving brief nods to onlookers as he guided his new wife to the De Chagny carriage that awaited them. He assisted her up the step, gathering her dress behind her before pulling the door firmly shut and signalling to the driver to leave. As they rolled off to the wedding reception, the crowd cheering their approval, Christine didn't give a second glance to the figure standing in the shadows across from the church. The same one that had been standing there as she entered...

%%%

Erik watched as they disappeared out of sight, his eyes never leaving the white figure within the carriage. He had watched as she went in to the church a mere hour earlier, looking rather flustered as she tried not to tread on the excessive amount of material which made up her dress. He had been stupid, waiting there as though she would run out again in a sudden realisation of her mistakes and run into his arms...

He shook his head and turned away from the happy crowds, frustration running through him. Why did he let himself bring his hopes up like this? Of course she hadn't come back; the previous night was purely an act of pity! She had probably been relieved to find him gone that morning when she awoke. Surely he'd done the right thing? After all she could never have been truly happy with him and now she belonged to another. That was the end of his thoughts of Christine and it was time to let go of his affections.

He turned back one last time and spoke despite the absence of the carriage or the occupants of it: "Farewell, my Christine..." he blinked hard as he tried to stop his emotions over-taking him. These emotions soon twisted to anger and he stormed away from the scene as fast as his legs would carry him. He wound down the streets and alleys he'd come to know so well and quickly found his way back to Madame Giry and her daughter, a black carriage parked up behind as the horses shuffled impatiently.

"Are you ready, Master?" Madame Giry spoke cautiously as he came closer.

"Just get in the coach; we'll speak of this place no more, you understand me!" He swept himself up and hardly waited for the other two to scramble in before giving the signal to leave. As the carriage proceeded to trundle through Paris, Erik found he was humming to himself and finally he murmured softly to himself as the buildings began to thin out; "Leave this place behind..."

%%%

"I never really believed in love until I found myself watching Christine on the stage the night of her debut performance. I have to say, I hardly recognised the shy little Lotte whom I'd known in my childhood, she possessed such elegance and beauty. I couldn't have really asked for anything more," Raoul smiled down at her and Christine forced herself to return the gesture, trying not to let boredom overcome her. This was Raoul's moment, the speech; it was his 'big chance' to tell her how she felt. It was only fair she reacted like he expected, for the effort he'd put into the speech was obvious and it was quite sweet in a palpable fashion.

"And so it is thanks to my little Lotte that I have become a better man, one who finally has someone to put before himself. Christine, my love, this is a toast to you!" He raised his glass toward her, grinning wildly, and the rest of the room did likewise. She blushed at the gesture, playing the part of the modest bride to its full effect, before sipping her own champagne delicately. She tried hard to keep the joy on her face, but the day felt like it got worse by the second; her one wedding day and she wasn't even able to enjoy it.

The room began to fill with noise as waiters finally started to serve the food; there were further staff offering beverages and it seemed as though each individual guest was being waited on hand and foot. She had never known such luxury after living in the opera house as an orphan all these years. Then again, she supposed this was what Raoul experienced everyday and she too would need to become familiar with it.

Her thoughts drifted once more to the previous night where there had been no luxuries in sight. The only thing that had filled that room was the cobwebs and the passion created between them. But Christine knew she couldn't keep thinking about all that had happened, she had to accept he'd left and move on or else be taunted for the rest of her lifetime. Just one final thought of his touch...

Christine reached across and clasped Raoul's hand softly in her own, lightly stroking his wedding ring with her index finger and smiling tenderly at him; "I do love you, Raoul," She spoke the words as though trying to convince herself of it rather than him.

He simply chuckled before replying: "Well I should hope so too! After all you're my wife now," He lifted her hand from his and kissed it before they both turned their attention back to the food in front of them. The entire room began to eat and soon all were joining with the festivities which continued for the remainder of the evening; Christine was only once briefly distracted, by the loud clang of horseshoes on the cobbles as a jet-black carriage passed swiftly by. She didn't give it a second thought...

%%%

_Sorry for the boring chapter, I just felt I needed to get this out of the way. Next chapter will hopefully be a bit less pointless, but this is just his leaving and her marriage really focused in. Reviews will determine how long this'll carry on, and I don't have loads of chapters saved or anything like I do the other stories so uploading will be slow for now. Thanks (: _


	3. Chapter II

_**November 1881**_

Meg tapped her foot on the floor of the carriage, bored after the tediously long journey that her mother had failed to warn her of previously. They'd already travelled from Paris to Calais and then boarded a steam boat to somewhere that quite frankly looked like France all over again (though it was admittedly dark), before being bustled back into a different cab that had been waiting for them at the port. Meg hadn't questioned her mother up until now, she never really did, but the situation was altogether to strange to make sense of alone.

"Mother," She spoke softly after noting the steady breathing of the third occupant within the carriage. Meg wasn't entirely she why he had accompanied them, but from the events that had occurred at the opera house she knew better than to provoke him. If her mother wasn't bothered by his presence, then Meg was sure it would be alright.

"Yes, Meg dear," Madame Giry didn't turn to face Meg, just continued to look forward with a blank expression, her elbow leant up against the window pane and a single finger massaging her right temple. She'd obviously grown as weary as her daughter over the course of the voyage and perhaps conversation was a welcome thought to take both their minds off it.

"Where are we going? In fact, where are we for that matter?" She looked out of her own window, but was met with complete darkness that hid any clues the land would have given her.

"We are going to stay at my cousin's old home; she could never bring herself to sell it when she moved to Italy and offered the place to me a couple of months ago. This is the soonest I could bring you both here," She gestured to the silent figure as she said these final words.

Meg's eyebrows knitted together as she tried to remember any relative of her's that lived outside the city of Paris, but her mind remained blank. "Yes but mother..."

"That is all you need to know on the matter, Meg," Madame Giry cut her daughter off before she could pry further.

Meg nodded solemnly, knowing better than to insist she was told. Instead she decided on changing the topic to their fellow passenger who remained asleep; "Mother... who is-"

"I think you know who that is, Meg dear," Her mother's tone was sharp and annoyingly dismissive.

Unsatisfied, Meg persisted: "Yes, but what do I _call _him?" She knew her mother had plenty of excuses for dismissing her when it came to the Opera House, what with about thirty other girls to teach and care for. However, for once it was almost just the two of them and they were a long way off their daily rush - her mother couldn't escape her here.

Madame Giry turned to her daughter, opening her mouth and then closing it as though reconsidering. "You refer to him as master, Meg," She faced the front quickly, decidedly ending the conversation.

Meg sighed, then mumbled almost inaudibly "Yes, mother" before turning to look out of the window once more. She was used the disappointment her mother so often brought her. It wasn't always on purpose, Meg understood that, but that didn't make it any less frustrating. She just couldn't help but wish her mother had spent more of her time being... well, a _mother_, as opposed to the many other roles she supposedly had to fulfil. Meg tapped her fingers rhythmically on the window as she thought about all of this. Soon her eyelids slowly dropped, the tapping ceased to continue and she drifted off into a well deserved sleep with the thoughts of her lifetime still flashing through her mind.

Madame Giry watched her daughter with a studying gaze as Meg began to sleep and was overcome with the realisation that her daughter was no longer a child. Her face was less rounded, her figure was slim and womanly and her features were more defined than Madame Giry remembered. Meg was a young lady, that was quite clear, and yet she had failed to notice until now. The question was, how?

She was awoken from her thoughts when she noticed her other companion begin to stir.

"Erik?" She questioned to ensure he was waking, using his name for the first time in countless years.

He turned his head to Meg sharply, finding she was sound asleep, before focusing once more on Madame Giry. He glared at the woman but then seemed to change his mind, for his eyes softened and he slowly shook his head at her: "No, Erik left this Earth long ago." And it was true for he was only Erik when he needed to be human. He'd lost his humanity with his dignity and childhood... At least he had thought that, there had been one person who brought Erik back: never again.

Madame Giry strained to catch the muttered sentence and remained silent for a moment before continuing "I see... Well then, _master..._" She spoke the word carefully, giving the man a sideways glance as she did so. "Might I ask where it was you hurried off to earlier on? And perhaps why it was you hurried back?" Her eyes never left his as she asked the questions, certain she saw a flicker of guilt in his eyes.

Erik had been caught off guard and hurriedly tried to form an answer in his head, hesitant about admitting his trip to the church. He should've known Giry had guessed his whereabouts already; "Was it not the wedding of the De Chagny boy yesterday?" He refused to meet her gaze as he tried to block out the memories of the happy couple leaving the ceremony arm in arm.

He remained silent the rest of the journey and Giry quickly got the message. He tried not to, but couldn't help letting his mind drift to the thoughts of his old domain, his previous way of life...And of_ her. _It was when the latter of the list came up that he shook his head abruptly. If he was ever going to start anew he would have to perish the thoughts of Paris; if that meant discarding his memories of Christine Daae, then he was determined to do so...

%%%

Christine came down the staircase, wisps of her chestnut curls falling from where she'd pinned it, her hand in the crook of Raoul's arm. She smiled at her husband as she had been doing for the past twenty four hours, and to be perfectly honest her cheeks were beginning to ache. However she had no choice as Raoul's few cousins and their partners had stayed the night after the reception, and it was only fair to him to keep up the perfect newly-wed visage (if only until they left).

As the two entered the dining room, the three women already at the table with their husbands cooed at the couple. Christine continued to grin like a lunatic whilst trying to remember which of these women, if any, were actually related to Raoul. In all honestly, she'd only remembered of one of his relatives – an extremely decrepit great aunt who had hobbled around the service pinching everyone's cheeks and slowing down anybody unlucky enough to be found behind her.

"Christine?" She came back to reality as she realised Raoul was looking at her, a questioning look in his eyes. "Are you alright, dear?" He said this in a low voice so as not to attract the attention of their guests.

"Of course, just daydreaming as usual," She said, trying to keep the situation light-hearted. She seemed to succeed as he was satisfied with the answer and went sit at the head of the table, Christine following behind him and sitting to his right hand side rather like a dog follows their master, much to her annoyance.

The whole concept of entertaining at breakfast was something Christine couldn't get her head around. An evening dinner party between friends was one thing, but guests first thing in the morning? It made no sense to her but she was able to keep her composure, managing a cup of tea and various bits of pastries and fruit as she continued to make a good impression with her new 'family'.

After they'd all finally retreated to continue packing, Christine let out a sigh of relief. A slight chuckle reminded her Raoul was still there and she blushed slightly at this realisation. "I-"

"It's alright, I understand. Families can be tough work," He clasped her hands in his own and set them on the table. "But they'll be leaving this afternoon, then you and I can finally start our lives together." He leant forward and kissed her lips softly before standing up and brushing himself down, heading out of the dining room as he called back; "I'll be in my office if you need me, I have some paperwork which needs seeing to."

Christine poured herself a final cup of tea and then took it with her as she headed towards the library, her favourite room of the house. It wasn't just the musty old smell of books and ink, or the welcoming arm chair and various settees dotted down the elongated room. Her favourite part of the room was what waited at the end of it; an old mahogany grand piano, with real ivory keys and a red velvet stool. She still remembered the day that Raoul had first shown it to her, the excitement she'd felt at the thought of practicing here. It had been left to him by his grandmother as a family heirloom and after being told this, Christine was always extremely careful to handle it gently.

She sifted through the various bits of paper across the top of the piano trying to find one of her warm up pieces and then moved over to settle herself on the bench. She spread the three sheets where she could see them before beginning to slowly work through each part of the melody, trying to recall the small amount of piano she'd learnt when her father was around.

At last, she began to sing and as she did so the stress of the past couple of days melted away. Christine's singing was an escape from the real world and it made her feel like a different person, someone who had no worries or fears. Her voice let her be carefree for a few moments and as she finished the final bar of the aria she let out a sigh of relief. Then she remembered a time where she didn't sing, as a child where it didn't mean anything to her. She remembered who'd changed that. He'd let her into his mind, exploring the depths of his creations. Sometimes she hadn't known if he was a figment of her imagination, but she'd always hoped he was real...

She shook herself from these memories, trying to ignore them as she stood once more to search for a more challenging piece. She was a married woman, she was happy with Raoul and he was wonderful to her. She should be happy... No. She was happy.

Christine couldn't help lying to herself, and the more she said it in her head the more truth she saw in it. With false hope plaguing her mind, she buried herself into her second piece, hitting notes with such ease you'd have thought she'd always known how to sing. It was easy to forget the past now, but little did she know that simply tossing the memories away would no longer be an option soon enough...

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_Right well that is a slightly longer chapter for you all, and I'm not sure if I like this but after restarting this over and over I felt I needed to stick to something! Anyway, the next chapter will jump ahead a short time, and it might go on like that for a while to keep you lot entertained (: Please leave a review if you bother to read this far, it keeps me writing! _


	4. Chapter III

_**February 1882**_

Erik awoke to a sharp ache in his lower back that morning, the result of spending too long hunched over his desk and scribbling notes like a mad man. He wasn't entirely sure of the exact period he'd spent here but he'd estimate that he'd left Paris with the Giry's at least three months ago and New Year had past, marked merely by the absence of his female companions from the somewhat drab place they all called home –an isolated building, apparently planned that way for his state, but only a short cab ride from England's great capital, London, the place which had been their destination all along.

Blinking sleep from his weary eyes, Erik pushed himself out of his chair and heard a crack of protest from his back again. Ignoring this, he wandered over to where a bathroom adjoined to his bedroom and found himself in front of the mirror. He slowly peeled back the mask, knowing that sleeping with the item on did more damage than good, and was met with the twisted flesh which he had become accustomed to. He had obviously been lucky that night for the only damage were a couple of raw spots on the surface – on his forehead and above his bloated lips. He opened a small cabinet lined with viles and ran his fingers over the labels before plucking the largest bottle off its shelf. Erik tipped some of the liquid content of the bottle onto a clean cloth and gently dabbed at the sore patches on his face, trying to ignore the stinging it brought – that just showed it was working. Finishing this off and then rinsing off the fluid, he placed the mask back over his deformity and went about changing into something more suitable than the clothing from the previous day. There was a knock at the door just as he'd pulled a fresh shirt over his torso; he gave a shout to allow whichever Giry was waiting outside the chamber entry.

"Monsieur?" The curtain of blonde ringlets that peered round the door still shook slightly, keeping Erik quite aware of Meg Giry's fear towards him. "M... mother wished for you to c-come talk with her in the... the parlour, when you're ready of course..." Her voice was so soft it was hard to catch the words but his ears were well attuned to eavesdropping and so this caused him no bother.

"May I inquire, Miss Giry, as to why this is?" He spoke the words with a slight acidic tone to his voice, wanting to maintain some of the power he felt when people feared him – he had missed this aspect of life as a ghost.

"I'm afraid I-I don't know, Monsieur," Erik noticed her eyes remained fixed to the floor, as though the girl had some great interest in the floorboards of the house.

"Very well," He turned to sort the papers scattered across the floor surrounding his desk before realising Meg hadn't left. "Did you not understand, girl? Go!" He did not raise his voice, there was no need to. The demanding tone caused her to flee just as quickly as if he'd gone into a rage.

Rolling his eyes at the child's foolishness, he shuffled the papers up together and spread them on the desk to be finished later then strode out the door, ensuring he locked the place beforehand. His footsteps echoed in the vast corridor as he headed toward the grand staircase - this house had a sense of grandeur which had been lost to time, as though it had been built for great things which were never fulfilled. Finally reaching the door to the parlour, he marched in without so much as a knock and stood before the stern-faced ballet mistress whom he was all too familiar with.

"Erik," She spoke, raising a hand as he opened his mouth to protest the name. "I hope you have slept well?" The man simply shrugged his bony shoulders and mumbled something. "Do sit down, you make me uneasy when you stand around like you're about to leave." She ignored his sigh of annoyance as he perched on the edge of the chair opposite her; "So how have you found life here, at the house?"

"Can you expect to enjoy life shut away in a room, madam?" He spoke ironically so often – why was a straight answer so difficult to come by with Erik?

"Yes, well that's rather why I wished to talk to you..." She paused, watching the man's eyes scan the room as he took in each detail – typical behaviour of her old friend. "I wondered whether you had considered some sort of occupation?" She sighed as he gave her a blank look: "A job, Erik"

"Give me some credit; I am quite aware of what you implied..." He paused as the signs of a smirk crossed his face. "And what job do you suggest a phantom should take?"

"Your talents open a wide range of possibilities, monsieur. I'm sure you will work something out," It was her turn to smirk now as he snorted in annoyance. As she stood and set to leave the room she spoke a few last words: "I hear French architecture is quite the 'thing' in London."

As her footsteps faded out as she crossed the hall leaving Erik alone with his thoughts, most of which were clouded by annoyance. So this was how Giry would get him out of her way, with a job? It wouldn't be for income for he knew the ballet mistress had got herself and her daughter work at a London theatre, not as large a company as the Opera Populaire, but apparently popular nonetheless. Rational thought finally brought him back to the truth of the matter; Giry was simply trying to help occupy his mind. What was it she had said before her exit? 'French architecture is quite the 'thing'?

This thought floating through his mind, Erik swept back through the corridors and up the staircase before swiftly unlocking his door and hurrying over to take his seat back at his desk. A blank sheet spread in front of him and fresh graphite in his hand, he let his imagination run free in the hopes of producing anything that might 'wow' the simple minds of most average citizen. It took Erik no more than an hour before he lifted the sheet to the light and smiled at the finished piece – it was a perfect example of just what wonders he was able to produce when prompted. Now it was merely a matter of finding the right employer...

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Another early morning, Christine thought wearily, as she found herself rushing for the bathroom the third morning that week for the all-to common sickness that she'd found herself plagued with. She was in her third month of pregnancy, yet already she was yearning for the end of it – no good had come of this realisation.

It had been around three weeks after their wedding when Christine first felt unwell in the mornings and despite her protests, Raoul had insisted on calling out a doctor. When she'd first heard the news, she'd been thrilled like any mother-to-be – but then a matter of timings had brought an end to this:

"_Three weeks along..."_

That was the phrase which echoed through her mind through a majority of the day, her last thought when she went to sleep, her first when she awoke. As bad as it may have seemed to most, her and Raoul had failed to consummate their marriage for over a week after their actual wedding day – not that she realised at the time. They'd just been busy with all the social events and such that came with being married to the Viscount de Chagny – the relationship had taken a back seat even then. So originally, when told she was three weeks pregnant, Christine had failed to see how this could be possible...

...Then she remembered that night_._

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"_Christine shouldn't be doing this to a half-faced beast..."_

_%_

She sighed – her angel hadn't realised how right he'd been. The fact that it was the night with _him_ which had created such a situation had been all too much for Christine that day, finding herself sobbing uncontrollably into her hands before feeling a warm arm wrap around her back; Raoul. That had only made the crying worse, but the doctor had tactfully left the dates between Christine and himself; in other words, Raoul was none the wiser that the child was not his. He had simply thought her reaction due to shock and had tried to console her with the thoughts of a few months on from then when she would cradle their child in their arms.

She padded back from the bathroom in her gown, feet bare, and smiled as she passed Raoul's new project, the nursery (in progress). She leant against the doorway as she glanced at the pale blue walls and the white painted crib that was set in the centre of the room, a small mobile with farm animals dangling over it. Raoul had gone and bought both cradle and mobile the very day they'd found out about the child in a further attempt to cheer her up, only succeeding in adding to her guilt though she hid this with her exterior expressions. He'd stopped his paper work the remainder of that week to paint the room himself.

She moved away from the room and shuffled further down the corridor to the master suite. She slowly cracked the door open and found the room was still in complete darkness, Raoul still dead to the world and unaware she'd vacated the spot beside him. She smiled and suppressed a laugh as he mumbled her name into his pillow, deciding against returning to the bed herself when it was already dawn. Instead she pulled the door closed behind her and crept through the house to the place she always went – the library.

The floorboards felt cold under her feet and the room was lit only by the gray dawn light that slipped through the dusty window panes. She settled herself by the piano, gently pressing some of the keys as her mind wandered – what was the Phantom doing now? What would he have done had he known what they'd created that night? She hardly noticed herself playing the beginning bars to the soft lullaby he once sang to her as a young girl unable to sleep. She was stirred only when the door to the room creaked open about ten minutes later than when she'd entered, revealing a very sleepy-eyed Raoul carrying two cups of tea. He smiled as he noticed her at the old instrument.

"Always with your music, my Little Lotte," He set both cups on the top of the piano briefly as he dragged a small side table and a chair over to her side, moving the beverages onto here instead. He slowly sipped the darker of the two brews before nodding encouragingly; "Don't stop on my account."

She hesitantly began to play the same soft tune as she had been, the guilty pit at the bottom of her stomach gnawing at her as she thought the man who'd taught this to her. The father of this child...

As she finished the final bar, Raoul gave a gently round of applause with a grin on his face; "Is there no ends to the talents of the Daae's?" He came round behind her, softly kissing the top of her head in the midst of her curls. "No doubt our child will be just as much of a wonder." Christine swallowed hard as she tried to rid herself of the hard lump forming in her throat. The way Raoul spoke of this child, such fondness and love in his voice – what would he do if he knew the truth?

"We can only hope, my dear," She stood, lightly stroking his arm before reaching for her white tea and leaning on the window ledge whilst sipping it. Raoul was soon behind her, wrapping his arms round her hips and resting his palms on her already slightly rounded abdomen. She twitched slightly at the odd sensation, but nonetheless leant back smiling and lightly kissing his cheek; "You are too good to me Raoul." He had no idea how much so...

He simply smiled, the lopsided grin that seemed to turn Christine's knees to jelly, and stated; "Only for you, Christine," He brushed his lips gently against her's before pulling away and carrying his empty cup in the direction of the door. "I shall leave you to go dress then, see you down at breakfast." He gave her one last smile before his head disappeared and he was down the corridor.

As soon as he was gone, Christine found herself slumping down onto the piano bench as her forehead slightly dampened. How had she ended up with such a man? One who comforted her in her moments of weakness, brought her such joy with something as simple as a kiss, and was doing anything he could to ease her mind at the thought of a child...

A child he thought was his. She shook her head in her hands as she breathed deeply. He couldn't know, he wouldn't need to – he could stay on top of the world just as he was now, he would feel the pride of being a father just like a husband would. She wouldn't let herself be the source of such pain upon a man she loved like this.

She pulled herself up and then hurried back in the direction of her bedroom, calming herself as she went. It didn't matter who the child's biological father was in reality, Raoul would be the real father and she'd make sure of that...

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_Hope this isn't as cringe-y as I felt it was while writing it. I kept to my word about no Coney Island stuff! All new ideas are hopefully what you'll find in this story ;) Hope you're liking it and please review!_


	5. Chapter IV

_**Late April/Early May 1882**_

Christine sat in the library, alone with her thoughts as she had become accustom to the past few months. She was in her usual place at the piano but rather than singing or playing scales she had decided to write the invitations that Raoul had nagged her to send. It was tradition for the families of aristocracy to hold a sort of party in celebration of a coming child, an occasion for family and friends to coo over the expecting couple and lavish them with gifts for the newborn. It probably should've been over and done with by her seventh month but up until now she'd found herself unable to face the thought of the entire estate filled with people congratulating Raoul on becoming a father. Christine had finally come to terms with the fact that she'd have to face a lifetime of her husband being called 'father' anyway – best get used to it now.

Christine quickly darted her eyes down the list of people Raoul had insisted she invite, the usual suspects – the Count and Countess De Chagny, her in-laws, his sisters and their husbands, as well as the hundreds of cousins her husband apparently possessed stretching down a page as long as her arm. She sighed as she undertook the task of neatly inking the names on the tops of the cards Raoul had managed to get printed for her (though how much it had cost for him to convince the owner of the printing press to do so, she had no clue) whilst turning over his list to find names of various business partners or fellow patrons: Monsieurs Andre and Firmin were near the bottom. Just a further reminder of the opera house and so a reminder of the events which had taken a place... A reminder of _him_. She was sick of it, should a woman not be able to leave her regrets in the past?

A kick from her abdomen soon reminded her she would never be able to do this. The infant growing within her was half of the very man she longed to leave behind her but the truth was with this child around she'd never be able to do so. As she continued to scratch the names of people she hardly knew she ached for some familiarity - all Raoul's friends were so cold and fake. They would put on a good show for the public but in reality they were all gossiping about one another behind closed doors, her own husband did so often enough for her to know this. She needed somebody there that she knew would be genuinely happy for her, no matter what the consequences...

_Giry_, the name flashed in her mind as she thought of her dear friend Meg and Madame Giry who in her own words was 'practically her mother'. The pair of them had known Christine since she was a small, gangly seven-year-old orphan girl sent to the opera house for a fresh start in life. She could trust them, she was entirely sure of it.

So with this mindset Christine swiftly finished the 'proper' invitations and shoved them to the edge of the piano, not bothering to pile them up, before scrabbling for a blank sheet among the music; the best she came up with was a sheet that had half a song jotted on the back and struck through. Sighing at her lack of organisation, she turned the sheet over and began to write the only invite she actually wanted to send:

_My dear Meg,_

_I do hope your mother and yourself are keeping well, in spite of recent events. I wished to write to you in the hopes of gaining your attendance at a small celebration Raoul has insisted we hold in honour of our coming child, on May 25__th__. It seemed ludicrous to invite all the members of the Parisian upper class while failing to contact the pair of you. I need you and your mother with me, Meg; I need somebody familiar at such a time._

_Your Friend,_

_Madame Christine de Chagny_

Christine shook her head at the formality of the final name and quickly scrapped it:

_Madame Christine de Chagny_

_Lotte Daae_

She knew Raoul would have a fit if he found her maiden name on the letter but she'd ensure he wouldn't. Instead she slipped the letter beneath her dress in the hopes of finding some kind of envelope to address later on and piled all the rest of the invites into the box that the butler had brought them in. Gathering it in her arms, she marched along the room and out the door before nearly slamming right into one of the housemaids.

"I beg your pardon, Madame," the girl bleated before then trying to take the box from her, mumbling to her. "Oh let me take these for you now, Madame, much too heavy to be carried about by a woman in your condition." Christine sighed at the insistence of the girl before hearing the question: "Where was it you wanted these?"

"I wished to take them to my husband's office," She folded her arms graciously as the girl tried to keep the box balanced in her won grasp.

"Was there a message you wished me to pass onto him?"

"Actually, I believe I will accompany you there..." She paused, trying to find a name to fit the round-faced girl in front of her.

"Marie, Madame. That's my name," the maid looked down at the box as she spoke, concentrating on anything but her mistress.

Christine smiled apologetically: "I'm sorry, I'm just not used to all this yet," she gestured to the grandeur of the halls. "I'll get better, I promise." She laid a hand on the girl's arm and felt it twitch beneath her touch with the strange situation of a friendly lady of the house. "Now why don't we head down?" Christine nudged the girl and as they strolled along she studied Marie with a critical eye.

She couldn't have been older than eighteen, scarily similar to her own age Christine thought, and her round face was pale with rosy cheeks. She was very petite, with deep brown eyes and dirty blonde hair scraped up and underneath her bonnet – she was quite a plain looking girl, perhaps a less attractive version of Meg now she thought about it. She hardly noticed they'd reached the dark mahogany door of her husband's office until Marie tapped on the wood with her knuckles causing Christine to start.

"Come in!" Raoul's voice bellowed from the opposite side of the room and his face displayed his surprise, pleasant though it was, at seeing his wife in his office. "Christine?"

"I finally got round to the invitations you wanted, my love," She went to take the box from Marie but Raoul beat her to it and as he went back to place the box on his desk, Christine muttered a quick: "Merci," to the maid as she left, finally gaining a tentative smile from the girl. Turning her attention back to her husband, she made her request: "Could I trouble you for an envelope, Raoul?"

"No need, Christine, I shall have the butler sort and address these later." He settled back in his chair and looked over what appeared to be some sort of contract; Christine couldn't help but notice the stamp from the Paris Opera House at the bottom. Raoul noticed her gaze and smiled: "The plans to rebuild it. They wish to know if I will help fund the building work."

Christine nodded at the explanation before returning to the previous matter: "I didn't need the envelope for the invitations, Raoul, I was thinking of writing to Madame Giry and Meg." She noticed his creasing brow. "They've been good to me over the years, darling. I wish to maintain such a relationship." He let out a sigh before rifling through his draw and presenting her with a crisp white envelope. She smiled and as her hand went to take it he snatched it and quickly kissed her knuckles before letting her go. Just as she went to leave, she remembered two particular people from the guest list: "Why were Monsieur Andre and Monsieur Firmin invited to the party, Raoul?"

He didn't look up from the contract as he spoke. "All my business partners are invited, Christine. It is important to keep them in our social life."

"Raoul, surely you do not plan to continue with your patronage of the Opera House?"

He gave her a confused look: "Why ever not?"

"After all that has happened to us!" She proclaimed. "You nearly died down there, that madman burnt the place to a crisp and yet you think it is necessary to rebuild it!" Her eyes were like daggers as Raoul rolled his eyes at her.

"Christine, sweetheart, what happened to us was a once in a lifetime problem. Besides the events that occurred that day gave the place more publicity than anything this century!" He stood up and came over to her, trying to take her hand and tilting her head up to him whilst ignoring the face of astonishment he saw there. "I know what we endured was traumatising, my love... But you understand how great a business opportunity this is?" He lightly touched the bump and the child kicked. "My priorities are to keep providing for you and our child, you understand that?" Christine couldn't help but melt at his adoring gaze coming from his soft hazel eyes. This man loved her with all his heart, she could tell.

"I understand Raoul. I trust you," She leant up and gave her a chaste kiss on the lips before leaving him with an uncertain smile. He stumbled over to his desk once more, lightly massaging his temples as he tried to read through the contract once again but soon gave up as the stress of the situation became too much. In all honesty, he hated the thoughts of his patronage at this Opera House as much as Christine but he had no choice. It was what provided his greatest independent income (or it had been before the fire) and without it he knew his family's wealth slowly but surely whittle away.

Christine, meanwhile, had hurried back to the library with the envelope held firm in her grasp. Once she had settled back on the piano bench she gave a quick glance round the room to ensure that she was alone then reached for the note she'd hidden in her dress. Smoothing the paper out and re-reading the note, she then tried to recall when she'd last talked with Meg. She'd said something about her mother taking her somewhere and finally recollected the farewell when Madame Giry had slipped her a piece of paper with an address on. She snatched up the envelope, letter now enclosed and charged down the stairs to the small cloak room that was hidden under them. She threw scarves and shawls to the floor, Raoul's dress coat joining them, as she tried to find her blue jacket that she'd been wearing that day.

"Madame?" She jumped out of her skin at the scene at the sound of the butler's voice. She whipped around and spotted the coat just behind the door he was blocking. "Is there a problem?"

"What? Oh, no problem just looking for something I left in a pocket somewhere," She reached nimbly behind the door and slipped the card she knew would be there into her hand. "But I've finished now, thank you." She gave him a wide grin before skipping off and scanning the address before her:

_Coralline Manor, Braxton Drive, Wandsworth, London County, SW18 HF2_

She thrust the letter toward the young maid Marie who'd she met earlier, her script now repeating the address along the front of the letter. The girl looked startled to be interrupted from scrubbing the floor of the hallway and looked around timidly as though it may be a trap before standing up, dusting off her apron and taking the letter from Christine's hand. "Would you mind taking this out to the post office for me? Only I don't think Raoul will agree to my leaving the estate." She flashed a smile at the girl who frowned at the request.

"Monsieur Raoul will get angry with me if he knows I've left,"

Christine took her elbow gently and led the girl to the door while explaining: "Nonsense! I'll just tell him I sent you out, Marie," As she opened the door she thanked the girl before closing it behind her and leaning against it. If all went to plan, she would be seeing the Girys in no time...

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_So sorry for no Erik this chapter, but the next one will probably be all him I think. Hoping you guys enjoy this and PLEASE review cause no one did last chapter and I know people are reading/favouriting, it doesn't take much just a quick 'Like it' will do – I don't want you guys to be snoring at the screen ;)_


	6. Chapter V

_**Early May 1882**_

It had been over three months, and yet Erik found himself still skulking around the excessive mansion day after day without a single sign of employment. He must have sent his sketches and portfolio to at least fifteen separate contractors; however, all remained without success and the repeated failures were taking their toll: he was frustrated and a touch of rejection seemed to affect him. Perhaps his designs in architecture just weren't suited to the old-fashioned gentry who persisted to inhabit London… or perhaps he'd simply lost his touch.

At this moment, Erik was settled in a sturdy oak chair beside a fire place in the front parlour of the house, awaiting the delivery of more letters - though he expected they contained more of the same 'apologies' as the others he'd received. Whilst watching his small copper kettle come to boil over the fireplace, he could hear the echoes of Meg Giry scampering about the kitchen in an attempt to make her mother something warming for breakfast. As Erik heard the girl swear under her breath, the overwhelming scent of curdled milk reached his nostrils and he found himself slightly amused at the failure. Although he knew he should help Meg, he could not quite bring himself to trust the young ballerina at present. Erik had given his trust too easily back at the Opera House; had too quickly believed the best of… well, those events had left him reassured that he was better off keeping to himself.

He had been so preoccupied with events in the kitchen Erik had let the kettle boil over. Cursing to himself, he swiftly grabbed the wooden handle of the pot and shoved it onto the table beside him where he'd already set a mug with his tea bag and the sugar bowl.

As he poured the water, he heard the mailbox open with a clatter and the soft thud of the letters falling on the doormat. Momentarily turning his attention away from the steaming liquid, a few drops spattered onto his finger causing a stinging sensation to spread up Erik's right hand – no real threat but nonetheless painful. He dropped the kettle onto the table and nursed his sore limb as he headed over to sift through the post; he read all the printed addresses to 'Mr. E Carriere', none of which looked promising. But there was a single letter with elegant script scrawled upon the envelope:

_Mademoiselle Meg Giry, Coralline Manor, Braxton Drive, Wandsworth, London County, SW18 HF2_

Even now, as he tried to fool himself that he didn't recognise the handwriting, Erik's hand persisted to tremble with both anticipation and an inkling of panic. He looked over his shoulder, but there was no sign of Meg heading his way as of yet. And with that, Erik took the envelope back to his chair, ignoring his beverage as his gaze refused to leave the lettering. He slowly pried open the plain wax stamp which sealed the envelope and began to lift the flap.

"Er… Monsieur?" He started as a blonde head poked around the door with a timid smile. "Your letters were still by the door - you normally grab them straight away. Did you want me to bring them to you?"

Erik remained facing away from the doorway as he concealed the paper from Meg. "It's quite alright, I'll get them myself later," He gestured for her to leave and she silently obeyed, giving a nod of farewell before disappearing.

Breathing a soft sigh of relief, Erik brought his attention back to the letter as he pulled it from its envelope. He fumbled to unfold the paper and braced himself as he began to read:

_My dear Meg,_

_I do hope your mother and yourself are keeping well, in spite of recent events. I wished to write to you in the hopes of gaining your attendance at a small celebration Raoul has insisted we hold in honour of our coming child, on May 25th. _

Erik stopped reading at this point, for he was too stunned at such news. Not even a year of marriage and the "happy couple" were expecting? It angered him to think of the fop, the ridiculous deChagny boy touching such a beautiful creature as Christine – his eyes scanning her statuesque body, his hands caressing her silky soft snow-coloured skin, unscathed with a single imperfection. His coarse kisses violating her own peachy lips as he took her for his own.

The thoughts raced through his mind, which soon brought him back to the night when _he'd_ felt her touch. Their bodies had been so perfectly attuned to one another, two instruments creating an angelic melody – rather appropriate, for she was _his_ Angel, and he had once been hers…

No, he was _still_ hers. Erik would _always_ be her angel. He remembered everything of that night - they had been Christine's own words on that night, "_You have always been my angel… and nothing in the world will change that"_. He still believed in them, and with this encouragement flickering in his mind, Erik brought himself to read on:

_It seemed ludicrous to invite all the members of the Parisian upper class while failing to contact the pair of you. I need you and your mother with me, Meg. I need somebody familiar at such a time._

_Your Friend,_

_Lotte Daae_

A smile tugged at Erik's mouth as he observed the way in which she had signed off her letter: no sign of any husband, but just a simple chorus girl who would sit in the chapel and beg for her Angel of Music. The child who'd sobbed three nights in a row in sorrow, until her Angel could take no more, and soothed her to sleep with his echoing song. The juvenile who'd faithfully awaited midnight in the chapel to receive her voice lessons and whom had then developed into a glorious young woman, his protégé who'd performed in Hannibal that fateful night near to a year ago.

The night everything changed between them.

He read through the document once more and turned it over to find a few notes scratched there – a folk song he remembered teaching Christine at the age of ten. This 'blast from the past' combined with the chosen name "Lotte Daae" to sign off the letter gave Erik the impression that his Angel was yearning for the past. She was clearly not accustomed to her new life, not happy…

He felt compelled to find her, to comfort her, and he wouldn't let anything prevent him. However, it was only a matter of time before she would blend in with the best of the Parisian upper class – especially with the coming of a child with the De Chagny blood. She would be fine…

Nonetheless, Erik was convinced that the ladies should return to Paris, and he was determined to accompany them, despite being a wanted man. He'd stayed in the shadows most of his life and he could do it again – it was Antoinette Giry he would have to convince of this.

As luck would have it, he heard footsteps on the grand staircase and soon the cheery morning exchanges between mother and daughter. He slipped both envelope and letter into one of his pockets before rising and gathering the now cold tea and kettle in his hands before heading to the kitchen.

He found the two women consuming what was most likely porridge at the tiny kitchen table (rather than the drafty dining room next door) whilst talking enthusiastically; he didn't bother to listen.

Erik tipped out the liquid from both kettle and mug before washing them out and setting them to dry on the rack beside the sink. He turned back to find the gaze of both Meg and Madame fixed on him – they both quickly turned away. Not long passed before Madame Giry insisted Meg go change for the day. Happy to oblige, the girl scurried off leaving the empty bowl behind. Her mother looked up to catch Erik's eyes, analysing him.

"You want something," It wasn't a question, but Erik nodded anyway before sitting in the little seat Meg had just vacated. There was an awkward pause before the woman interrupted it: "Do you wish to tell me what it is? I'm not a mind reader, as I'm sure you're aware."

Swallowing, for he suspected she would not be accepting of his actions, he pulled out the parchment from his pocket and set them on the table. The old ballet mistress slid the two papers toward her, her eyes flicking from the address to the writing to the invitation whilst they grew wider with each word. When she'd finished she looked up at him with a hard stare. "You are quite aware that this letter is addressed to my daughter, I take it?" He remained silent which she took for the affirmative. "If you wish to get along in the real world, Erik," she held up a hand to stop his protests at the name. "Then you must start to accept the boundaries. Opening someone else's mail is _not _within these boundaries!" Her voice remained quiet but the anger was obvious.

"Madame, I would not have opened the letter if it was merely something addressed to Meg,"

"But…"

"It wasn't just _something _though, was it Antoinette?" He paused and as he watched the anger in her eyes replaced with understanding. "I could recognise that writing anywhere…" he whispered. She nodded and read through the invitation once again.

"So what is it you want to happen, exactly?" He frowned and she looked up to see this, rolling her eyes. "Well, you agreed you want something, so what?"

"I thought it was obvious," Erik stated with a slight shrug of the shoulders. Antoinette Giry was usually so intuitive, but it seemed her skills were failing her. "I wish for you and Meg to attend the party."

Her brow creased as she tried to link the pieces. "You wish for Meg and I to attend Christine's party after reading a letter she wrote… How on Earth does that benefit _you_? How does it even involve you?" She looked up again and the light in his eyes finally got her to realize his motive. "Oh, no, Erik…"

"Just hear me out-"

"You cannot expect me to take the risk of being caught smuggling Paris's most wanted back into France!" she spoke with fear rather than rage and he reached over to touch her hand.

"I will not allow you to be caught - I do not plan to be caught myself. I have stayed within the shadows for the majority of my lifetime, Antoinette. I will be able to do so for one simple journey," She shook her head, mouth open as she tried to find the words to say – she was hesitant. "Please, Madame… I need this chance." he whispered, yet she heard nonetheless. The two just looked at one another for a few moments before she finally gave him a single nod.

Meg strode back into the room and looked startled to find the two locked in a staring match. "Mama?" Erik turned at her voice, his face remaining expressionless. "What is going on?"

Madame Giry stood up and took her daughter's hand in her own. "Christine has written to us my dear; we're off to visit Paris once again."

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As they pulled up just out of the crowds that were already streaming into the docks, Meg reached to open the door only to have her hand pushed away by her mother. She looked up confused but followed her mother's gesture to note their companion still pulling a travelling cloak up over himself, so as to prevent being noticed. Meg doubted anyone would give a second glance to them in such a crowd but nevertheless understood the precaution and waited till she was sure the man had covered his face before leaning over to the handle once again. The driver had already made his way round and assisted both her and Madame Giry exit the carriage before lifting their luggage off the back of his taxi.

Waving farewell as the man drove away, Meg gathered up the three cases as her mother pretended to assist what would appear to anyone passing to be an elderly man. The ingenious simplicity of the plan caused a smile to cross Meg's face as she noted not one person gave a second glance – this in itself was reassuring. She finally believed that the journey to Paris would be altogether uneventful; Meg would be reunited with Christine in no time…

%%%

_HUGE thanks to TheAustralianZombie for her brilliant Beta-ing ;)Sorry to all of you for such a wait but I've found myself completely swamped with work at school and I have real important exams this year – however I plan to have another chapter coming sooner than you might think and the plot line is beginning to take shape so please be patient? 3 Feedback is greatly appreciated!_


	7. Chapter VI

_**May 1882**_

As the cab pulled up beside an average-sized town house, Erik dared to peek out from beneath the hood of his cloak- the clothing impaired his view and was beginning to agitate him, but he had no choice until he was alone with the Girys once more. It was turning dark outside, and, as he tried to work out whereabouts he was in the city in relation to Christine, Antoinette Giry prodded him before holding out her hand again. Returning to his persona, Erik slowly shuffled his way out of the carriage and watched as the driver lifted the final suitcase into Meg's arms before heading off into the darkness that continued to deepen. Once the trio were sure the man had disappeared, Erik immediately threw back his cape and joined Madame in ascending the few steps to the peeling blue door of the house, taking his suitcase from Meg as he passed her.

Once the door was open, Erik wasted no time in pushing past the Madame and heading up the stairs, only just catching the location of the guest room "at the end and to the right". A floorboard creaked as a paced his way down the corridor, passing two doors that he assumed were the Giry's bedrooms. He got to his own door when he caught a whiff of something familiar. Turning to look at the other side of the corridor he noted an open door to a bathroom and a closed one opposite his own – presumably where the scent came from.

Curious, Erik dumped his luggage in his own room before crossing the hall in one stride. He paused for a moment to listen for either of the women heading up the stairs, for fear of being caught prying, however from the sound of it they were busy scrubbing down the kitchen to a sanitary state once more. From what he'd listened to of Antoinette's mind-numbing conversation on the boat this house had been her home away from the Opera House which had been left to her in a grandmother's will (or something of the sort). It seemed strange to him that the Giry family should entrust so much property to one another but then again he hadn't the experience of so-called 'family spirit' to know such things.

Turning back to the door in front of him, Erik twisted the handle but found that the room had been locked up for some reason. He immediately fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a hair pin that he'd gotten off Meg's bureau* at some point in London (though how he'd come to be anywhere near her bureau was a mystery) and had a go at picking the lock. It wasn't too difficult due to the poor state of the mechanism, and within a mere moment Erik let the door swing in.

A great waft of the flowery, yet somehow refreshing, aroma swam around him as it tried to exit the room, making it obvious it had been shut up for a considerable amount of time. Daring to venture in, Erik saw a modest double bed with a night stand at one end of the room, with a dresser and mirror against the wall opposite him and a petite cupboard behind the door. Little else could be seen in the room causing Erik to wander whether it was a further spare room – but something told him to keep looking. He shut the door behind him prior to facing the cupboard doors and gently pulling them open.

The right hand door gave a loud creak, making Erik wince, as he tugged at it - it revealed only three articles: two modest dresses and a thick cloak that looked to be made of felt. Erik allowed himself to finger the material of the clothing as he took in the details of the nearest dress – a pale green, cotton number with black detailing around the waist.

He then turned his attention to the dresser and he walked across to it, fingering the painted wood surface as he looked into the mirror. Erik's mask covered the right side, as always, yet* the good side of his face was pale too - most likely due to his lack of sleep and a winter of remaining in the mansion. He would have to remember to get some sun over the warmer months.

As he looked at his image in the mirror, Erik saw a flap of what he assumed was paper tucked into the frame of the glass. Reaching up and softly tugging the tab, he soon realized it was an old photograph that had been stuck there by the room's previous inhabitant. He squinted as he tried to make out the figure – it was definitely a man with dark hair by the looks of the photo.

Giving up on the poor black and white image, Erik turned over the page and saw the all too familiar script that he'd read not too long ago - Christine's writing spelled out: _Gustave Daae_ along the bottom edge. He smiled as he fingered the words before his mind caught up with his actions. He dropped the picture onto the desk top and slowly left the room, being careful to close the door delicately behind him so as not notify Meg or Madame Giry of his venture.

However before closing the gap entirely, Erik allowed himself one final sniff of what he'd now identified as Christine's favored perfume. He didn't know how long it could take for him to find the real thing instead…

%%%

_Just a short shot of Erik contemplation (: The next chapter may see a few revelations instead! And aren't you readers lucky to have me writing more frequently! :L Enjoy it while it lasts ;)_

_Thanks to TheAustralianZombie as always :3_

_And for those who don't know, bureau is just like a desk or dresser (:_


	8. Chapter VII

_**May 25**__**th**__** 1882**_

Christine looked at herself in the mirror one final time, twisting to the side and cradling her ever growing bump. She had to have tried seven separate dresses before this one and still she was uncomfortable with her appearance – despite Raoul faithfully commenting on how beautiful she had looked in each. She'd finally settled on this pale blue cotton number, with tight elbow-length sleeves that had white lace trim matching the hem, however no matter how hard she tried Christine couldn't find herself beautiful in pregnancy.

Women from Raoul's family had chattered on to Christine about how this was the greatest time of her life, that a lady blossoms in pregnancy but she couldn't see it. As soon as her abdomen had started to round, Christine had refused to go out or accompany her husband anywhere – she simply locked herself away from the world. The truth was, in her head she knew that it wasn't just because of the baby bump that she kept away from company; the ever recurring fact that the child Christine was carrying wasn't that of her husband was the true problem. Guilt was constantly overwhelming her, particularly the night time as she lay next to Raoul – the man she'd married, the man who had brought upon her such a wonderful (if not too extravagant) lifestyle – whilst Christine dreamt of what her beloved Angel would think if he knew the truth. Why couldn't she get him out of her head?

Christine tugged at the material of her dress one last time before heaving a sigh and slipping out the bedroom to the top of the staircase, being certain to keep out of the view of anyone below. She waited as she watched Raoul greet various people whom Christine was sure she'd never met before, fingers crossed that her 'secret' letter would have done the trick. She tapped her foot impatiently and watched her husband spin around and crane his neck to see if she'd managed to change yet – not that any of the guests would've noticed. Christine had been stood here at least fifteen minutes, having taken a good half an hour of the party to try on dresses, yet not a single visitor had questioned the Vicomte of her absence.

Christine was near to leaving her perch, perhaps to hide away in the library, when she finally spotted a girl with blonde waves in a faded red dress come through the door and give a slight curtsey to Raoul, soon followed by an older woman in deep indigo garb (a tone so close to black that one would've found it difficult to see the difference). Before her husband could tell them she was not about, Christine swiftly padded down the stairs with a wide grin as she saw Meg's delightfully shocked expression.

"Oh Christine, look at you!" her old friend exclaimed with a laugh as the two embraced like sister's once more. "You're glowing!"

Christine rolled her eyes before tapping Meg's hand in a scolding manner: "That's what every person says to a pregnant woman to make her feel better!"

"But it's true, or at least in this case it is," Meg shrugged as though at a loss of what more to add. "I'm sure mother would agree," She turned to Madame Giry who gave a nod of approval before turning back to continue chatting with the Vicomte in what seemed to be an engaging conversation. Meg sighed: "Typical, she always was too busy to get involved." Christine frowned and tried to interrupt but Meg cut in: "Is there anywhere less… crowded we could go? I'm dying to catch up!"

"Follow me," Christine took her friend by the hand and led her through a door round the back of the stairs, cutting through the dining room to reach a further corridor. She dragged Meg to the heavy door at the end and was pleased find Raoul had failed to lock his office. Closing the door firmly behind them, the two women settled on the sofa nearest the door.

Meg gazed at the lavish red carpet before turning her attention back to her friend. "So what wonders can be found in the great life of Christine Daae… Oh I mean De Chagny, I keep forgetting your name has changed," She blushed slightly at her mistke.

Christine just kept a small smile on her face before answering: "Other than the obvious you mean?" She rested a hand on her front before continuing. "Well not much if I'm completely honest, Meg- I haven't been in a mood to leave the house since the news. Raoul's been on at me to get some air, for the baby's sake, or to accompany him to a party and "live a little" but I just don't see the appeal of it all…" Christine trailed off as she stared into space, causing Meg to shift uncomfortably.

"I was going to ask why it was you'd left such an event till this late," Meg murmured, gaining a confused look from her friend. "Well, from what I know about these sorts of things –which I'll admit is probably limited – women have these kinds of parties before their third month is over. You can't be less than six months along, Christine…"

"Seven, actually," She chipped in. "But that's beside the point. I didn't particularly want a party in the first place, it was Raoul's idea. That's why near to every guest in the house right now has no idea I'm not at my own celebration." Christine shrugged: "But it made Raoul happy, which makes me happy."

Meg twirled a piece of hair round her finger. "You're so lucky to have found Raoul, you know, to have found your soulmate…"

Christine tried to look glad at the words – indeed she had found her soulmate, but Raoul wasn't him. She shook her head at the man she'd forbid herself from thinking of and turned back to Meg, quickly changing the subject. "So what about you, Meg? Moving to London!"

Meg nodded enthusiastically. "It's wonderful there, Christine, you'd love it! The people there have the most extraordinary accent and the ballet is just as magnificent as it was here, although the food isn't up to the French standard! But I can live with it, as long as I have my job at the theatre there – not quite as substantial as being a member of the Corps de Ballet over here- but just as fun. Mother got a job with me, though she's only assisting the choreography and has to do the cleaning on the side to get enough money to support all three of us…"

"All three?" Christine interrupted, suddenly more interested in the story than she had been. "Who's the third?"

Meg bit her lip, obviously angry for letting her tongue slip (at least that's how it seemed to Christine) and tried to back track: "Two of us, I meant the two of us!"

"No, Meg, you were right the first time, I can see it in your eyes! You think I don't know when you lie after all these years?" Her friend dropped her head and began to play with the cloth of her dress. "Tell me who…"

"I can't, Christine!" Meg snapped before looking her friend in the eyes and began with a softer tone: "I wish I could, honestly, it's just mother said it was better for us all if we both kept quiet about it,"

"It's him, isn't it?" Christine whispered, aware that if Raoul was nearby he might hear their conversation. "Your mother took him in, the Phantom…"

Meg closed her eyes and breathed out whilst slowly shook her head: "Erik, that's his name… I've heard mother call him that a few times back home. The Phantom was just a character, at least that's what mother described it as."

Christine nodded. "Erik…" The name rolled off her tongue with ease and she felt a genuine smile cross her face for the first time in months. "I never knew…"

"I don't think he tends to use the name," Meg added. "I find myself trying to avoid calling him anything – I used to try avoiding him altogether. It wasn't till the third month I was comfortable being alone with him…"

"Meg you have to take me to him!" Christine interrupted, grabbing her friend's arms tightly, forcing her to look in her eyes. "I need to see him – Erik – as soon as I can,"

"Christine, I…"

"Please!" She wailed, though still taking care not to become too loud. "He's here, isn't he?" Meg nodded. "Then you have to take me to him!"

"Christine, please listen to me. Do you really think that's a good idea? I know you've had this strange… connection with him. But that's in the past now, everyone knows you left with Raoul – you're married for God's sake! Please see sense, Lotte?" Meg's eyes pleaded with Christine but she remained adamant and stared straight back. "What's the point in re-opening healed wounds? Especially his, I mean how on Earth will he react to you carrying Raoul's baby?"

Christine squeezed her Meg's arm causing her to stop. For a moment the two just looked at one another, before Christine finally swallowed and took a deep breath before breathing something that was inaudible.

"Christine, I can't hear you, you're going to have to…"

"It isn't Raoul's…" It was a mere whisper but Meg still caught her friend's words. Her mouth remained open in complete shock as Christine slowly brought her gaze back up, tears beginning to well in her pale, jade green eyes. Meg shook her head slowly in disbelief but before she could speak again and ask the obvious, Christine held up a hand: "I think we both know the only other possibility."

Meg breathed the name, "Erik…" There was a long pause in which the blonde girl just stared into space while Christine waited anxiously. "But how, I mean… Where? When?"

She had known the time would come and so Christine finally came out with the story she'd been dying to share with someone she could trust. "It was in November, Meg, three months after Don Juan and all that followed. Three months after I'd left…" She paused to wet her lips. "But I didn't stop thinking about the man I'd left down there, Meg, not in all the weeks I spent with Raoul. I tried to get him out of my head, but the Ph- I mean Erik just stayed there, the expression on his face as I left, the pain in his eyes, the heart-wrenching wails as we left his lair… He haunted me. I had to find him, had to make sure he was safe. He had let us escape the mob but at the cost of himself, if anything had happened to him then... Well, after a couple of weeks searching I found him, not that I knew he was there till I got to the warehouse. We talked for a while, Meg, but… Well he was unbelievably sad and for the first time I finally caught a glimpse of a _man _within the mask. One thing led to another…"

"Oh, Christine," Meg rubbed her hand sympathetically. "But then why marry Raoul? You gave your childhood to Erik…"

"He left me, Meg," Christine finally let tears spill over. "I woke up in the morning in a cold, very empty warehouse without a single trace of the man who'd been there the night before… I had no other choice, I had to marry Raoul."

Meg drew her friend close, resting Christine's head on her shoulder and rubbing her back sympathetically while trying to make sense of the story she'd just heard. After a pause pushed Christine gently up and looked her in the eyes with a serious look. "You're certain there is no possibility that you've made a mistake, that there is a possibility that Raoul is actually…"

"I'm certain Meg," Christine cut in. "There was a whole week between the wedding and the first time Raoul and I… Well, you know." Her cheeks flushed slightly.

Meg head bobbed up and down for what felt like the hundredth time that conversation before standing up decisively and holding out a hand to Christine to pull her up. "Then we have a visit to make," The two embraced once more as Christine tried to put across the abundant gratitude she felt along with the relief – she was finally going to see Erik again.

%%%

It was a typical party that Raoul De Chagny liked to hold, despite the fact that it was supposed to be in honor of his wife and the coming child. Every guest was far too indulged in conversation regarding the latest gossip or future business plans and opportunities that nobody even took note of the sound of the back door closing – except one person.

That one person, upon hearing the sound, swiftly made her way through the hordes of people without disrupting the festivities too much. Sadly, once she reached the kitchen exit all she could make out was the shape of two women, one with wavy blonde hair in a faded red dress and the other… An elegantly dressed lady in pale blue with chestnut hair with a striking resemblance to the Vicomte's spouse, perhaps too striking... Who on Earth was she going to inform of the flight of Madame De Chagny!

%%%

_Just in case you were wondering about the confusion of which character the final part focuses on, don't worry it's supposed to be confusing to keep it secret ;)_

_So lots of secrets finally spilled, Meg got the gossip at last and Christine finally learns the name of the guy she lost her virginity to :L I know you're looking forward to the next chapter, right? Well keep your fingers crossed and they may keep coming!_

_As always, thanks to TheAustralianZombie (who's to blame for the delay in chapters fyi, though we all have other stuff to do so no worries on her behalf ;D )_


	9. Chapter VIII

_**May 25**__**th**__** 1882**_

Marie grew flustered as the figures of the two women disappeared out of sight – what was she going to do? She picked up a pocket watch that must belong to one of the other servants and tried to remember what each Roman numeral stood for. Squinting close to the glass, Marie saw the hands make out the time – about a quarter to five. A few hours more, and it would be dark outside. Marie was a young woman, too; she knew how dangerous it could be out alone in the streets of Paris once the cover of night emerged.

As Marie suddenly though of all the scenarios her Mistress could end up in - none of them ending well - she remembered the older lady she seen the blonde-haired girl enter with. Marie tried with all her might to remember the appearance of the woman: she'd been wearing a deep indigo dress and had her ink-coloured hair had been pulled up in a bun.

With this image in her head, the young maid rushed back into the crowd of guests who chatted enthusiastically to one another, blissfully unaware of the problem.

As Marie tactfully weaved between groups, she ended up colliding into the very woman she'd been searching for, although she had not remembered the stern look that remained fixed upon her face.

"Watch where you're going, child,"

The woman's voice was not gentle, but Marie heard no acidity there either. As the lady made to walk past her she quickly stepped in front of her: "Wait!" She realized how loud she'd spoken as the woman gave her an angry look. "Apologies, I didn't mean to be rude… But I need to talk to you M…Madame."

She hesitated for a moment as Marie looked to her pleadingly. Obviously the look gave the woman enough of a reason to believe there was something wrong, for she followed Marie out back to the kitchen before gesturing her to explain.

"You were the lady accompanying the blonde girl here, Madame?" Marie questioned.

"Indeed. My daughter, Meg," A sudden flash of panic showed in the mother's eyes. "Has something happened to her?"

"Madame, I don't know if you happened to notice the absence of your daughter at this get-together… I'm almost certain that not so long ago I saw your daughter, the one in the red dress, leave with my Mistress."

"Christine!" The woman hissed before turning back to the maid and taking her by the arm. "Why on Earth would my daughter be dragging her heavily pregnant friend out to the streets of Paris?"

Marie shook her head in panic, her eyes filling with tears. "Please, Madame, I have no idea. I only wanted help," She whimpered.

Madame Giry stopped for a moment as she really began to _look _at the girl for the first time, and was shaken by how much she resembled her daughter. The dirty blonde bun was only a shade or two darker than Meg's waves, her watery eyes a deep brown that exactly imitated her daughter's.

"Madame?" The timid voice brought the older woman back to her senses. She took the girl by the arm once again and headed straight for the door, pulling it open with a sense of urgency.

"We'll find them, girl, don't you fear…"

%%%

Christine's feet began to ache from all the walking. As far as she could work out, Meg had dragged her along for at least an hour and the light was beginning to dim with every passing minute. Even at the Opera House, all the ballerinas had been told to be out as young women without a man accompanying them after dark was a death sentence in itself. With this thought, Christine shuffled closer to Meg and asked how much longer they'd have to walk.

"Don't worry, I'm almost certain it's a matter of minutes away," Meg tried to sound confident but the "almost" had ruined it for Christine, who took to gnawing at her lower lip. In an attempt to pass the time, Meg inquired: "I don't want to pry, but… Well what actually _happened _that night Christine? You know, the one with Erik? I mean… What did you talk about?"

Christine tried to recall everything, deciding how much was really necessary to tell. "Well, I went to the warehouse and he was the first to speak. At first, he seemed emotionless but after one mention of Raoul he got angry… It only stopped when I called him an angel and the anger began to fade. He broke down in front of me, tears streaming down his cheeks – I'd never seen him close to this before. I suppose the vulnerability drew me to him, I comforted him, I felt close to him… so, I kissed him."

Christine heard a sharp breath from Meg at the mention of this and she sighed. "I know, I was still engaged to Raoul and it was wrong of me to do so. But I couldn't help it, Meg. I was like a moth drawn towards the flame of a torch."

Meg nodded as though trying to understand her logic. "So what happened once you kissed him?"

"Erik pulled away; he looked as though he couldn't understand why I would do such a thing. I told him I should've done so sooner…" She paused, reflecting on the events of seven months ago. "I suppose it was true, Meg. From the time I first sang at the Opera House, it felt like I was in a dream. Then, my debut in Hannibal brought my angel forward to see me, and I finally learnt it was reality - even the misfortune beneath his mask. I was afraid at first, Meg. I thought his face was something I needed to be saved from; and I believed Raoul was the one who'd save me."

Meg's brow crinkled. "Isn't that kind of what happened though, Christine? I mean, the Phantom was seemingly a threat and Raoul's support was exactly what made you feel protected."

Christine slowly shook her head. "There was never a danger in the first place, just an unusual relationship that was accompanied by feelings I failed to interpret – I never did until that night. I finally achieved closure…"

"Hate to interrupt," a husky voice caused both girls to start as they were forced to stop by two pairs of wide shoulders. The muscled arms attached soon grabbed Christine and Meg by their wrists, pinning their arms to their backs with such force that the little blonde ballerina couldn't help but whimper. The man behind her, who only found this amusing, gave a brief yank on her forearm and chuckled at her pained expression.

"Now, now gents – this is no place for needless violence," Christine squinted as she tried to see the face that belonged to the voice. As though reading her mind, another bloke, similar in size to that behind her, stepped into the light with a smirk spread across his lined face. His eyes slid up and down their figures, the expression growing greedy upon examining Meg, before he waved a hand to bring forward a further three men whom Christine had failed to notice. "Well, ladies, we can do this the easy way or the hard way…" He took a couple of paces forward and placed a dirty hand under Meg's chin, tipping her head up with a sharp jerk. "Give me all your little trinkets, anything which might take my fancy, and then I'll let you walk away from here without a problem."

After a pause, the man, supposedly their leader, gave a snap of his fingers and Christine watched in horror as the three men in front of her drew knives from their pockets. Just when she thought it couldn't get worse the front man slowly drew out a pistol from beneath his waist band causing her to gasp in terror. Upon hearing this, the man turned his head to stare at her and slowly a wide smile grew from ear to ear; he grew menacingly closer but Christine couldn't tear her eyes from his vile expression. He sandwiched her face between his filthy hands after placing the gun back in his waistband, causing Christine to scrunch her nose in disgust – not that he cared.

"Would you look here, boys? We got a real upper-class lady here," He laughed openly with the rest of the men before leaning in till his hot, stinking breath swam around her senses. "You're that de Chagny fellow's wife, right?" He looked down and brought one of his paws down onto her abdomen, causing the child to kick in protest. "And there's junior…" The man turned back to look her in the eyes again with a smile. "Bet you've got some pretty ornaments on you, right?"

Christine froze for a moment, till the man raised his eyebrows, impatient for a response. Attempting to straighten up, she narrowed her eyes in a gesture she hoped would explain itself. "Of course not, I'd be a fool to carry such objects with me…" She stopped as an open palm made contact with her right cheek causing her to screech in shock more than pain. She turned back to the leader with disbelief in her eyes, but only gained a slight smile in response.

"They seem to want a challenge, right, gents?" They all chuckled or grunted – responses Christine couldn't interpret in any case. The man now bent down to her level and gave a toothy grimace before giving the order: "We'll do it the hard way then. Search them!"

At the sharp command, Christine immediately felt herself being yanked upright further, whilst the man holding her finally brought up another rusting blade to her neck. Two of the unoccupied men began to search her, trying hard to get beneath her skirts and such. Christine shuffled in an attempt to keep them off as long as possible; the shouts of protest from Meg caused her to turn and see the horrid leader dangle a golden pocket watch in front of her now sobbing friend.

"Please, sir, please!" Meg was hysterical as she shrieked for her loss. "It's my father's watch, sir, please! It's all I have of him!" The young blonde girl tugged with all her might to get out of the grip, to somehow snatch the watch back but no such thing happened – the watch disappeared from sight and Meg's shrieks echoed in the alley. Christine suddenly felt a breeze as the man below her suddenly threw her skirts in the air: the final straw.

Christine swung her leg back, knocking off balance the man who'd held her in his grip, before letting it swing forward into the pervert's head, and she watched as he fell back in agony. Her eyes darted for the third man but before she could find her final attacker she felt complete agony cross her entire right side. She turned to see the man as he lifted a blade with ruby droplets trickling down the handle – she would've wondered where it came from had she not looked down to find a deep scarlet stain upon the pale blue material. Christine felt her knees buckle and she gave in to the temptation to collapse in pain, clutching to the wound that had gone straight through her at the hip.

The next part was all a blur; Christine felt her head pressured as though forced to the ground, no doubt by the recovered men she'd kicked out at. She could hear Meg's screams of disgust and a further struggle as her friend no doubt tried to get herself free to help – but as Christine's vision continued to let the fuzzy black ring hovering at its edges close in, her thoughts turned to the child. She clutched her stomach whilst trying not to shift on her wound and immediately knew something was different: the peace she felt when cradling the bump was now replaced by a dread.

Christine finally gave in to the sensation and blacked out completely, but before falling unconscious her senses allowed her to note the damp sensation she felt around her upper-thighs…

%%%

_Yaay for two new readers xD I'm hoping the new categorizing of this story will help get more people who want this kind of POTO stories reading it so please make sure you review this and help me write in the right direction (:L)_

_Hope you guys are enjoying the drama so far and that it isn't to cliché or anything, I'm trying to keep this unique and semi-realistic (for a fictional story ;D). Don't expect another chapter after this for maybe a couple of weeks or so? I'm really sorry but I have some important exam stuff going on and that could well affect my chapter writing (I've got a short break coming up so I'll use that to my advantage)_

_Anyways, thanks to TheAustralianZombie as always (:_


	10. Chapter IX

_**May 25**__**th**__** 1882**_

Meg watched in horror as Christine crumpled to the floor, her body limp with the pain of the knife wound. The ballerina struggled and writhed in the heavy hands that bound her, yet more tears streaming as she shrieked and wailed at the sight of her childhood friend, desperate to come to her aid. The three men who'd previously held the Vicomtess now swarmed, one holding down her legs whilst another shoved her head down to the floor – the brunette's face was now in Meg's sight. She tried to make contact but as far as she could see Christine was quickly blacking out, her eyelids flickering. Meg was drawn to the final movement of her friend: the dropping of her arms to her abdomen – surely a sign.

"Let her go, you beasts, get off her!" Meg screeched as she watched Christine finally fall unconscious, her arms resting as they were. "For God's sake, she's pregnant! What of the child? Please, monsieur…" She let the final words turn to a whimper as she looked at the gruesome gentleman who controlled this group of men. His sickening grin caused defeat to wash over her as she finally allowed herself to completely break down, sobs racking through her at the hopeless situation and closed her eyes in defeat…

Within that split second she heard a cross between a shout and a groan, soon followed by a slight gag and the click of the pistol, now ready to shoot. Meg opened her eyes immediately and was greeted with what she would soon consider to be some kind of miracle.

The filthy leader was now trapped with his neck in the crook of an arm, slightly choked whilst his weapon pointed out at the rest of the gang. By the criminal's shoulder, she could see a tall man, though perhaps only she was able to make out the ghostly mask through the shadow cast by a black fedora.

"Gentlemen, I do hope you'll forgive this intrusion," the silky voice spoke softly and with a murderous tone. Meg felt the grip upon her loosen ever so slightly at this. "Then again, you don't seem to mind crossing boundaries." He let his lips curl into a smirk. "Now I have two options for you all – one, you can stand your ground. By all means, you're welcome to try it. But I wouldn't… that is, unless death is calling to you." Erik brought the gun down so the barrel went directly into their front man's left temple, gaining a whimper from him. "Or, you could just run…"

The group didn't wait for a second invitation and Meg was shoved to the ground in their haste. She landed on her arm, causing a crack that made her yelp. But her friend needed her and so without wasting a moment, she scrambled over to Christine's side where the gash remained blaringly obvious and bleeding steadily. Swiftly, Meg tore part of the hem from her dress off with her good arm and tried to clear up the area without much success – the blood was coming too fast. She looked over her shoulder in time to see the final man running away, leaving Erik still clasping the pistol when he turned to face her. The visible side of his face turned as white as the mask when he finally noticed the body behind her.

Meg turned her attention back to Christine, whose colour was quickly fading too, causing Meg to tug at her dress single-handed and press the fresh material over the wound. She was soon joined by Erik who swept off a black cloak he'd apparently been wearing and wrapped it tightly round the middle area of Christine's body before swiftly shifting the woman up into his arms.

The tall man started to stride off, signaling Meg to follow him, and so the little blonde shakily got to her feet and dusted down what remained of the faded red skirts. As she began to follow her masked companion, Meg felt herself tread on something with the toe of her boots and, upon looking down, caught a glimpse of gold. The ballerina couldn't help but give a slight gasp of delight before snatching up the previously stolen pocket watch with her right hand from the cobbles and rubbing the grime onto the bodice of her garb, jogging slightly to catch up to Erik as she did so.

But as she saw the gaunt face of her best friend poking from behind the protective body of her angel, she found the recovery of something so trivial to be rather minor in comparison to the great scars that had also been left as a result of their encounter.

%%%

Erik powered on through the ever gaining darkness, the dead weight in his embrace lending him the motivation it required. He let his ears listen out for the footsteps of Meg so as not to lose her but he could tell she was struggling to match his speed, not that she complained for they both knew how important it was to keep going.

The pair finally came out into the street that their townhouse was located and were going at such a pace that they collided with another pair of travelers.

Madame Giry looked ready to boil over with anger, but stopped as she caught sight of the crumpled figure in Erik's arms, a flicker of fear in her eyes for a moment before she came back to her senses. She turned to the young girl beside her: "Marie, go fetch the doctor immediately. The nearest one lives two streets from here," The older woman pointed the maid in the right direction before leading the way back to their building, fumbling slightly as she tried to fit the key into the door.

Erik whisked through the hall and immediately headed straight for the downstairs bedroom, previously the parlour, leaving Meg, who was cradling one wrist, to explain the situation to her mother as he nudged the door closed behind him. He set Christine softly onto the sheets of the modest double bed that lay in the center of the small room, ensuring her head was supported by the pillows there. Erik finally got a proper glimpse of his angel.

As he let his eyes take in her body, the unfurling of his cloak let her bump come into full view again. Though Erik had known of the pregnancy, it was clear she was much further on than was to have been expected – surprising, to say the least. In fact, why she was having a party at such a date was beyond him though it was no doubt at the fault of her darling Vicomte. The Vicomte whose child she was carrying…

He quickly shifted his gaze from the bump as he found himself seething at the thought of his hands upon her, instead choosing to focus on that which Erik knew – her angelic face. The pallor of her skin was the only difference, most likely due to the blood loss, but the loss of consciousness let all the emotion melt away and left only her beauty. Her lips were slightly open, the coral colour as perfect as always, whilst her chocolate curls tumbled flawlessly, framing her like a painting. Of course, he couldn't see the cat-like irises that hid behind the lids and spidery lashes but he could still picture them.

As he took this all in, Erik couldn't help but remember the first time he'd seen her…

%%%

_Erik had heard the sobbing from his lair but why he had chosen to pursue was beyond him - all he knew was that the closer he grew to it, the more musical and yet dejected it would sound. When he finally located the source of the noise he wasn't sure what to think__:_

_His __wandering__ had led him to the chapel__;__ and__,__ kneeling in the middle of the stone floor__,__ was a small girl, her strange pale green eyes tear-filled and lined with spidery lashes. Her cheeks were flushed and pink as the whites of her eyes, with her dark hair pulled into a long, thick plait along her back. From what Erik could see, the girl was facing a portrait up by the candles – he'd seen many a ballerina pray like this. But never _her_…_

%%%

Erik smiled at the memory and relished in it. That time was glorious, the time he finally found someone who needed him, wanted him – until she grew up. The man let his gaze drift from the blank patch of wall he'd been staring at and back to Christine, whose face was the colour of the sheets. He could still see the innocent child within that face, but age had made her features more defined. Right now one would think she was merely sleeping lightly.

At that moment, Erik heard the front door opening and stood from his perch at the edge of the bed, as though afraid to be caught in the wrong. He lightly rolled Christine so she was lying on her back and shifted his cape from beneath her body. One finger lightly brushed her forearm and for just a moment, Erik let it linger – then moved toward the exit. But before he could leave the door swung inwards and a young gentleman dressed smartly bustled in, carrying a briefcase that Erik assumed was filled with his equipment. His skin crawled at the thought of talking to this man, all doctors made him shudder, but for the woman who lay behind him, Erik would try…*

%%%

_Sorry for such a long wait! I have a really busy life at the moment, with some important exams in summer and such – I'm afraid that stuff comes first, but I promise this isn't abandoned! Please let me know what you think, and stuff gets good from here again – I'll get writing. Always nice to see more and more people are reading too so thank you for that (:_

_Also, let me know if there's any confusion whilst reading as my beta seemed to run into a few confusions (I've tried to clear them up!)_

_And finally, get ready for raving cause my LND Australia DVD finally arrived xD Gonna watch it now!_


	11. Chapter X

_**May 25**__**th**__** 1882**_

Erik stayed still as he watched the doctor approach the bed, Madame Giry close behind. The man began to examine Christine's body, placing the back of his hand on her forehead before moving focus to the gushing wound that had slowed to a red trickle. His well-practiced hands set about tearing away the areas of material which were blocking access, before reaching into his bag for cotton wool and asking Madame Giry to fetch some boiled water.

She had clearly prepared some already, for within a moment of rushing past Erik she had already re-entered the room with a dish in hand. The doctor gave a nod of gratitude before setting about cleaning the blood, both dried and fresh, turning the water crimson as he did so. Once done, the medic handed the bag to Madame who willingly bound the wound whilst he began to check the rest of Christine's vitals.

Erik had been watching intently when he felt a hand upon his shoulder and was startled to find Meg with wide eyes. His immediate reaction was to shrug it off and he took a step away from her, but of course she followed.

"Monsieur?" She questioned. Erik rather hoped this wasn't an attempt to soothe him. "I need to talk with you…"

"Leave me be, I don't need comforting," He muttered, rolling his eyes slightly as he did so and shifting his shoulder from her grasp.

Erik noted a slight flash of hurt in the girl's eyes before she snatched his wrist with her good arm and began to tug stubbornly. "I am not here to comfort, Monsieur!" Meg hissed, much to his shock. "This is urgent!" As an immediate reaction, Erik pulled back causing her nails to graze a previous scar on his arm. He inhaled sharply at the slight pain before stepping toward Meg as a change of tactic. The little blonde immediately keeled over backwards, thudding onto the floorboards whilst still refusing to loosen her grip – Erik soon followed suit, landing next to her.

"Meg?" The stern tone caused Erik to look up and find the imposing eyes of the ballet mistress glaring at her daughter. He couldn't help but let out a small laugh as he saw Meg's sheepish look, but was soon shut up when the fiery gaze found him instead. Swiftly, Erik pulled himself up and immediately moved out of Meg's reach as he heard Antoinette's voice again. "Perhaps you could go fetch the Vicomte for us and inform him of the whereabouts of his wife?"

Understanding this was a command as opposed to a suggestion, Meg pushed herself up and was about to leave before hesitating and turning back: "Alone, Maman?"

Madame Giry seemed to think for a moment before finding the timid maid that had been cautiously hanging near the doorway. Her tight lips formed a smile before she gestured to her daughter. "I'm sure… Marie, was it?" The maid nodded. "Yes, I'm sure Marie will be willing to return there with you, dear."

Erik watched as the two blondes left side by side, Meg still cradling her left arm as they did so. He couldn't help but wonder what had caused the change of heart within the girl…

"Right," The young doctor had managed to finish his examination by the looks of things as he pulled off some gloves and put them to one side. He nodded toward Christine and addressed Madame Giry: "I assume you're the one I need to discuss her condition with?"

The woman nodded but upon noticing the physician's eyes upon Erik quickly added, "But he stays." Erik couldn't claim he wasn't taken aback at the request, but nonetheless gave a quick nod in what he hoped she saw as gratitude.

The young medic wet his lips and nodded; "Very well, I'm sure it's clear to both of you that she's been stabbed, but luckily the blade seems to have entered at the front. The infant won't have been harmed on that account," He paused, glancing back at the unconscious young woman. "However, her waters have broken, due in part to the bleeding but possibly as a reaction to stress as well. Do you have any idea how far along she is?"

"Seven months," Madame Giry chipped in. "Her husband told me himself." Something in Erik's mind seemed to perk up at this, yet he told himself Christine was far too important at the moment and merely shook his head and tried to draw his attention back to the doctor's words.

"Thank you, Madame. Well, since her waters have broken, contractions should ensue not too long after she wakes up. With this kind of premature labour, a still birth wouldn't be out of the question and even if the baby is alive, its chances will only increase if it continues to survive. My advice would be that we start preparations now for the child's arrival – we've no way of telling when she'll wake, but if she's not responding within an hour we'll need to move her to the hospital…"

Erik was frozen as he was forced to face the reality of Christine's condition – death could not steal her from him…

The doctor then walked out the room, still in conversation with Madame Giry about when to change bandages and so forth and left Erik alone with the morbidly stationary body on the bed frame. He slowly moved toward the bed, as though each step he took ran the risk of falling below the floorboards. When he finally reached her, Erik softly perched beside Christine on level with her abdomen, slightly turned toward her head as he reached out a hand and let his fingertips run over her delicate cheek bones. She was so beautiful, some kind of angel – perhaps it was little surprise even death longed to own her.

Erik brought his hand back and picked up her right hand, holding it with his own while lightly stroking her palm. He let a soft smile crawl across his lips but he soon felt a single tear trail down his cheek as he felt the weak pulse beneath her skin. Erik remembered when Christine was a girl, how she'd beg him to sing her to sleep. His voice helped calm her down – perhaps it could help her now…

"_Alone she sleeps in the shirt of man, _

_With my three wishes clutched in her hand. _

_The first that she be spared the pain _

_That comes from a dark and laughing rain _

_When she finds love may it always stay true,_

_Yes I beg for the second wish I made too, _

_But wish no more, my life you can take _

_To have her please just one day wake…"_

He finished the final note of his nearly silent serenade, longing to lift her hand up to his lips but thinking better of it. Erik twisted his head to see the door had been closed when Madame Giry exited and he quickly let his well-trained ears listen out to the hall; as far as he could tell, the doctor had moved away from the door.

Having ensured his solitude, Erik turned back to the bed and brought his hand gently up to rest upon Christine's abdomen. The strange sensation of the baby's kick caused Erik to snatch his hand from her body, standing as though it were a reflex. He looked wide-eyed at the seemingly innocent bump and fearfully brought himself to settle back down, eventually placing his hand back on the infant as he had been. When he felt the response from the child again, Erik overrode the urge to get away and instead closed his eyes and hummed the same tune he'd sang as though hoping to calm himself.

When he was comfortable, Erik opened his eyes and even managed another smile, something he couldn't seem to help around his angelic soprano. However his focus had now moved to the offspring that she was carrying – that which the doctor had said would be lucky to live. There was another child he knew of whose midwife had sentenced him to death mere moments after birth…

…him.

Erik looked down to his hand and whispered softly: "If this world allowed me to live, little one, then it will surely save an Angel's infant…" He couldn't help but let himself dream of what the child might be like: beautiful no doubt, with Christine for a mother. Small as well, what with being two months early.

This thought again caused a flicker of recognition at the back of Erik's mind but he had no time to linger on this, for he was drawn back to reality by a mumble. He darted off the bed quickly and looked to the door way but found it was still securely blocked off. Unsure where the noise was coming from, his pupils darted round the room.

It was a shifting of the bed that finally brought Erik's attention back to Christine and sure enough he saw her eyelids begin to flicker softly. He shouldn't be here with her, Erik had no right to be alone with a married woman and he would be damned if she caught him here. He strode purposefully towards the exit and was determined to find the doctor and warn him of Christine's waking when he heard her light tone say the two-syllables he'd have never thought to hear:

"Erik?"

%%%

_Just to get it out of the way, the song is 'Gaeta's Lament' from some Sci-Fi thing that I came across for no apparent reason :L_

_Anyway, after watching LND on DVD (LOVED IT!), and previously I'd posted who I pictured whilst writing, but it changes all the time so I removed it (especially as my opinions are constantly refreshed and renewed!) but kept AustralianZombie's below (:_

_Sorry for such a long time, work at school is really busy now but writing a bit every now and then keeps me sane :L Also very excited to see POTO in the West End again on the 18__th__, although Peter J__ö__back has a lot to live up to since my __**all-time favorite John Owen Jones**__ *pauses to sigh happily* was there when I went last year! Still, from the 25__th__ Anniversary he seems to have a Crawford-esque voice so I hope that'll make him a nice new contrast (: Anyways enough of super long A/N, review!_

_~Bee_

_%%%_

_Hey there, dear reader. This is TheAustralianZombie – Flaming Bee's Beta. First off, let me apologize for how late I was editing this chapter. Sorry. _

_In case you're wondering what I do: I help Flaming Bee with plot ideas (I'm kinda like her backboard for random ideas) and edit all the chapters. This includes fixing grammar, words, punctuation and pointing out some passages that don't make sense as well as just making it a more enjoyable read._

_At the request of Flaming Bee, here is my cast for this story:_

_**Christine:**__Anna O'Byrne. I'm a die-hard Australian and saw the Aussie show three times – to me, Anna just __**is**__Christine. She's a trained opera singer and she has that regency beauty which is appropriate for the era and makes you believe Erik could have just fallen in love with her at first sight. Anna is also one of my biggest inspirations, and I love her for that. I don't hate Sierra Boggess, I just think Anna is a better fit for the role. In Love Never Dies, anyway._

_**Erik:**__ Ben Lewis. Hehehe… If any of you have read my stories (particularly Phanom Sonata which I wrote with the fabulous Poppy Seed) you'll know I have a bit (well, a LOT) of a crush on Ben Lewis. I had a bit of a fangirl moment the third time I saw the show: during Once Upon Another Time, Ben started staring me down. I was that crazy young girl in the front row who was mouthing along to every word, so I'm sure I must have been quite the spectacle. Never blushed so much in my life…_

_Anyway, to me, Ramin Karimloo has too much of a pop voice. Ben Lewis is more of a husky, dark classical sound, and I think he looks the part perfectly in the mask and dark robe. (it sounds like I'm saying he's horribly ugly… he's actually some yummy eye candy) Well, that was far too long. Moving on…_

_**Raoul: **__While I still do prefer the Aussie show to the London one, the Raouls all seem pretty much the same to me. Hadley Fraser in the 25__th__ anniversary… Simon Gleeson in Australia… whoever was in London (sorry! Can't remember his name). So I guess I think of Simon Gleeson because I know him the best._

_**Meg:**__ Sharon Millerchip (surprise, surprise.) She looks the part. Again, to me, the Australian cast just __**is**_ _their character. (That didn't make sense…) She has the dance skills and the voice and the look. 'Nuff said._

_**Madame Giry:**__ Ooh, this one's tough. I don't think I picture her as she is depicted in the London show, because she looks really evil. And, since this story doesn't take place 10 years after Phantom (only – what? Seven months? Hard to go from Stern Mother to Evil Bitch Who Ruins Everything in that time span.) I suppose I picture more of a nice Maria Mercedes. So... same voice, similar costume, just nicer. If that's even possible. :\_

_Okay, looks like that's about it. In general, I picture all my Love Never Dies stuff with the Australian production in mind. In my opinion, the London show got some of the costumes wrong (by that I mean time period) and the Aussie show is just near and dear to my heart. (For those of you wondering, yes, I did see the London production so I have a right to disapprove.) Feel free to hate me for it, but I'm just the Beta of this wonderful story, and my job is to make sure you enjoy it as much as you can – meaning please just imagine whoever you want (heck, even yourself!) as the characters. The imagination is a beautiful thing and unique to every person – this is just my input and how I read and view things. _

_And this BetaNote was entirely too long! Apologies, and I hope you continue to read and enjoy future updates – I know Flaming Bee has some surprises in store for you all. ;-)_

_~TheAustralianZombie_


	12. Chapter XI

_**May 25**__**th**__** 1882**_

Meg's blonde waves bobbed up and down as she walked down the cobbled Parisian street side by side with the little maid from the De Chagny estate, Marie. She nibbled her bottom lip, thoughts of what to do racing through her mind: her mother had practically commanded Meg to go fetch the Vicomte, and, from the brisk pace of her companion, she could tell Marie wanted to return to the mansion. But the ballerina's mind forced her to remember Christine's actions prior to the stabbing - Meg remembered the determination of her friend to find Erik, to talk with him about the child, to be reunited. She knew bringing the Vicomte would ruin any chances the pair had of reconnecting. She knew Christine needed more time…

"Mademoiselle?" Meg was jolted out of her thoughts by a sharp pain running up her injured left arm as the other girl grasped it. Marie quickly let go and stuttered out an apology before removing her apron and offering it as a makeshift sling, the straps fastened in a neat bow behind Meg's neck to keep it firmly in place.

"Thank you," she smiled gratefully, adding: "Remind me to get my arm seen to by the doctor when we return?"

The maid sheepishly nodded. "Of course, Madem-"

"Please," The young dancer linked her good arm with the other girl's, ignoring the shock she saw plastered over Marie's face. "You can call me Meg, you know."

Marie's look of surprise was soon replaced by a tentative grin which faded as Meg tried to drag her further down the street. "Wait, Meg, you're going in the wrong direction," She tried to intervene, pulling away. "If we turn right just a bit back here then we'll get to the estate much quicker…" Marie trailed off as she saw her companion begin to shake her head in disagreement – the maid frowned in confusion.

"We won't be returning to fetch the Vicomte, Marie," Meg spoke matter-of-factly, finding her new-found friend's face drained of colour at this news. "I was thinking we could try and find a shop to get supplies, what with the baby being delivered back at the town house – though it'll be hard at this hour…"

"We have to return!" Marie's reaction was delayed but not unexpected.

Meg sighed. "No, we don't, and what's more we aren't going to – now let's…"

"You may not need to return to the mansion, but I do!" The maid finally found her voice. "I have a job there, Meg, and Monsieur De Chagny is my employer – I can't keep him in the dark about all of this! What if his wife's condition were to deteriorate, or their child-"

"Stop right there, Marie," Meg used the harsh tone she'd inherited from her mother, silencing the girl as she tried to process what she could do in the given situation. But even as she thought of endless lies she could tell, Meg knew only the truth would stop Marie from retreating back to Raoul like a dog to its owner.

Looking from side to side, her eyes met with deserted streets; Meg took Marie's arm and led her to the entrance of an alleyway whilst choosing to ignore the cries of protest she received. After scanning the area one last time to ensure that no one was in ear shot of the pair, the ballet girl finally turned back to the maid – who looked frightened half to death by her impulsive strange behavior.

"You need to know the truth, Marie," Meg started, her voice low so as to remain quiet. "But you must agree none of the information I pass to you will ever leave your own lips – you understand me?" A quick nod was all it took for Meg to continue. "As Raoul's employee, you have no doubt heard the story of the Phantom of the Opera – the 'ghost' who wanted Christine for himself?" Another silent nod as reply, "Well that man, the tall masked one who was at the house back there, is – well, _was_ – the Phantom. He didn't just admire Christine or obsess over her voice like the rumours say; he loved her, perhaps as much as the Vicomte, and I know that Christine loved them both at heart… As far as anyone knows, Christine chose Raoul…" Meg paused for a moment, taking in the wide eyes of the girl in front of her who still seemed unsure how any of this should prevent her returning to her master.

"But the truth is, after all the events of last year Christine still allowed herself to return to the Phantom – Erik – one night, before she was wed to Raoul and… Well, this child isn't Raoul's." Marie gasped in seeming disbelief and Meg searched the brown eyes opposite her for any sign of judgment. "She told me herself she had mistaken her feelings within the commotion of her debut and such – that she'd never stopped thinking of her teacher during her time with Raoul. Christine begged me to take her to him when we were at the party, you see-"

"Which is why you were sneaking out the back!" Marie finally spoke, though it was barely a whisper. Meg saw a flash of understanding reach the girl's eyes as she tried to take in the whole story. "The mistress always did seem distracted from the Vicomte. Some of the other maids thought her ungrateful – not me though!" Marie quickly chipped in before she seemingly insulted Christine to her best friend. "I could tell she considered herself one of us, found it hard to accept she was of higher stature…"

There was a stretch of silence now as the two girls thought about the unusually personal exchange that had just occurred between them. At last, Meg broke it.

"So you understand that we can't inform the Vicomte… At least not yet," There was still a hesitance from the maid. "Christine needs some time to compose herself, to decide what she must do – surely you can appreciate that?"

Marie looked Meg in the eyes one final time, noting a plea within in them for the girl's agreement, to leave her master in the dark. She closed her own eyes and swallowed before looking at the dancer once more: "In that case, we best hurry to find somewhere open at this hour."

Meg embraced her new found friend at the silent bargain between them. Marie hesitated, taken aback, before she too wrapped her arms around the other girl.

The two smiled as they finally left the sheltered alleyway and set off down the street with new found energy, away from the De Chagny estate with arms linked. They talked enthusiastically, in fact if one had seen the two together, you'd have believed them to be old friends rather than a pair forced together by circumstance.

%%%

Erik was frozen with his hand reaching out to the door, unsure of what to do. He was unclear as to how Christine had learnt his name but that was unimportant for now. He turned slightly and saw those pale green eyes between the fluttering lashes as the soprano continued to stir – he hadn't seen her since the night last year. Erik couldn't face her, not like this, so he took his chance (before she had regained her senses) and practically ran out the door.

He was met with the confused gazes of Madame Giry and the doctor, who Erik had forgotten were still in the hall. He could only gesture to the door as words still failed to come to him, but Antoinette still got the hint and rushed into the room with the other man following her, throwing an uncertain look in Erik's direction.

The masked man now began to purposefully pace, uncertain that he could be of any help in his current state. Erik knew with Christine staying in the house, he would have to finally face her at some point but he also knew it would undo all the work he had put in to burying his feelings for her these past lonely months. Even as he'd stood over her lifeless form, Erik had felt his heart grow fonder once more.

But then he forced himself to face the truth: Christine was currently in the process of having Raoul's child. He knew despite all the hostility between them, the Vicomte loved his angel as well and she clearly loved him with equal enthusiasm. Soon enough they'd have the newborn as living proof of their commitment – assuming it survived from only seven months development…

Seven months. Why did this keep setting off a spark in his mind? Erik tried to think but didn't have a chance to place his problem as the front door opened.

Marie and Meg came strolling through the entrance with packages in their arms, laughing together before spotting the man across the room. They stopped as though caught doing something wrong and Erik couldn't help but note the absence of the boy – the only reason they'd been sent out over an hour ago (for Erik's thoughts had taken up more time than expected).

He frowned at the two blondes with confusion and tried to peer round as though the Vicomte might suddenly appear behind them but Meg quickly shut the door and pressed a finger to her lips. Erik took this as a silent request to refrain from getting Madame involved.

Erik would've spoken then, in hopes of making any sense of the situation, however didn't have a chance to. Instead all three of them flinched slightly as a loud shriek of pain came echoing out of Christine's room.

%%%

_I'VE FINISHED MY EXAMS AND IT'S NEARLY SUMMER! So hopefully I can be updating more than I have (keep your fingers crossed for no more two month waits :L) and I've actually been adding to the storyline so things might get better._

_I'm so sorry for how long you guys have waited ): I get bored when stories don't update, yet I fail to do it – what a hypocrite :L but thanks for all your reviews and such as well – I love to know people are enjoying the story!_


	13. Chapter XII

_Please Read the Author's Note Regarding My Latest Story :)_

_**May 25**__**th**__** - 26**__**th**__** 1882 **_

The unusual trio was stunned into silence by the piercing scream, but, as soon as it stopped, their senses returned. Meg was first to move: darting over to the bedroom in a cluster of blonde waves. Marie immediately felt the uncomfortable glare of the masked man's eyes on her, and so she followed quickly in pursuit, making sure to close the bedroom door behind her.

The ballerina was already staring wide-eyed at Christine, her dear friend, who was clawing at the bed sheets around her. The brunette curls were a mess, but Meg could still catch a glimpse of the pale face beneath them, her eyes shut tight with pain and teeth firmly gritted. The young woman's state had withheld essential oxygen for a moment, but, once she heard Marie stumble in behind her, she regained composure. She moved swiftly round the bed, passing her mother and the doctor who were talking in hushed tones, before setting herself at Christine's left side, tenderly prying her fingers from the sheets before weaving them with her own. Meg noted the maid stepped forward to comfort her Mistress as well, merely resting her hand on top of Christine's in a thoughtful gesture.

Her friend turned her head weakly at the feeling of contact and Meg grew sad at seeing the clouded look in the once beautiful green eyes, as though she were lost. She was almost relieved to see Christine attempt a smile at the sight of someone familiar, but this was soon replaced by an uncomfortable grimace.

"Meg," the blonde flinched at the hissed tone of her mother, and she turned briefly to face Madame Giry. "Did you not do as I asked?" There was a pause in which Meg wore a look of confusion, apparently convincing enough for the ballet mistress who sighed in exasperation. "The Vicomte? You were supposed to fetch him before Christi-"

"We went to the house, Maman," Meg quickly cut in, turning her gaze down to her hand as she stroked Christine's fingers absent-mindedly. "But we couldn't find him among the crowds, even the servants were unsure where he'd gone…"

"It's true, Madame," Meg smiled gratefully at the sound of Marie's voice. "None of us can afford to focus on the master's whereabouts with so many people in the house on one occasion."

Letting her brown orbs wander up, Meg marveled at the way the maid held her mother's stern gaze, not flinching for a second – strange to think that, mere hours ago, she was a shaking doormouse of a girl. Eventually, she saw Madame Giry's stone face relax as she sighed in defeat, having been forced to accept the feeble excuse. Meg knew her mother would more than make up for the lack of questioning later on.

"Meg…" The hoarse whisper coming from Christine meant Meg felt obliged to meet her friend's sad eyes once more – the sight turned the ballerina's stomach. "I heard him here… my angel…" Meg gave a pitying smile before shaking her head softly at the foolish words. "His voice was with me… I felt his touch…"

Christine stopped then, wincing as another contraction no doubt ripped through her. She looked like a child herself, Meg couldn't help but think, as she lay on the bed pale and losing energy by the second.

%%%

Another couple of hours passed as Christine's mutterings continued, Meg growing increasingly worried as her skin grew paler (though how that was possible she didn't know) and her fingertips became cool to the touch. She tried to listen as her mother and the doctor whispered at the foot of the bed, the sound only growing more urgent as time passed.

As Christine gave a slight grunt, signifying a new contraction, Meg could feel her heart begin to beat faster in panic. Surely by now the pain should be greater than before, but it was as though Christine had lost all her energy and had none spare to complain. Meg resorted back to stroking the girl's fingers as she felt tears prick the corners of her eyes – surely her friend could live..?

"Madame," The doctor finally broke the heavy silence that been hanging between them all for a long time now and as Meg looked up to see his face she was discouraged by his sullen expression. He nodded to the bump, keeping eye contact with Christine: "It's time."

Meg turned back to see her friend's reaction, but saw little or no change in her expression – in fact Christine seemed to be struggling just to keep herself conscious. The blonde quickly squeezed the soprano's fingers with her good hand and whispered encouragement to her in preparation for the next contraction: "Just keep holding on, Christine…" She muttered as close as she could get to the brunette's ear. "I need you to hold on so you can have your baby…" She felt the tears finally escape her and Meg sniffed slightly before leaning right into Christine's ear, so she practically breathed the last phrase: "Do it for _him_…."

At this she felt the muscles of the hand clasped within her own tighten and the pale face turned to look at Meg. She gave Christine a knowing smile and lightly kissed her clammy forehead, knowing she needed her support more than ever, before crouching back at the bedside level with their hands.

The brunette blinked for a moment before the cloudiness that had taken her eyes was removed, letting the sparkle return within the pale green. The corners of her coral lips turned up slightly in, what Meg assumed, was appreciation. But then, Christine's attention was taken as her face crumpled in pain.

"Time to push," The doctor ordered gruffly.

Christine squeezed Meg's hand with all her strength as she bore down, teeth clenched and eyes closed as she leant forward. After a few seconds she collapsed backwards, taking in shallow and rapid breathes as she tried to regain energy before she was suddenly overtaken by the need to push once more.

Meg watched this happen four more times, each one taking more of Christine's life from her. By now, her friend seemed a mere shadow of earlier that day – or now she thought of it the previous day – with her hair tangled and sweaty, her skin waxy and her eyes bloodshot. She was alarmed as she watched Christine droop when she fell back this time, her eyelids fluttering and her breathing rough and desperate.

"One more time, that last push didn't seem too do anything." The doctor called out, his focus entirely beneath the sheet at the end of the bed. Madame Giry and Marie were both watching him intently and so neither noticed, as Meg did, Christine's rapid decline.

"No, no, no…" Meg whispered as she watched Christine's head roll over to face the door, letting out a light sigh as though she were ready to lose this clash with childbirth. Meg was about to release her friend's hand and tilt her head toward her, pleading with her once again to keep going and to battle on. The tears rolled down as she tried to peel back Christine's fingers when she noticed the girl shift. Turning her attention back to her friend, she saw the soprano had pulled herself up, as though trying to sit, but her attention was focused beyond the other side of the bed.

Meg quickly followed Christine's line of sight and her eyes reached the door just in time to see the shadowy figure step back and out of her view. She remained watching the spot where Erik had disappeared, until she felt the tight grip of Christine's fingers against her own once more, the nails embedding in the flesh of her palm.

Looking down, she noted more determination than there had been at any point that night now set in her friend's face, as though the sight of her self-proclaimed 'angel' brought her power. The push lasted twice as long as those previous, about ten seconds, and Meg couldn't help but be impressed at the strength Christine clearly possessed to give such a great final* effort.

As the exhausted young woman shrunk back onto the pillows once more, her face now bright with colour and fresh sweat after mere moments, Meg couldn't help but marvel at the sudden transformation. A heavy silence fell over the room as all four occupants awaited a sound they all desperately wanted to come…

…And then, as the cries finally began to fill the air, a great sense of joy swept through them all.

%%%

_Sorry for the lack of update – I've been struggling to write this chapter well enough for me to like it :/ I'm hoping that the next few chapters will work much better and soon enough I'll have to start thinking about continuing the storyline cause otherwise I'll run out of story (don't worry, I have an idea for the rest of it… I think :L)_

_Anyways enjoy, and please review cause it makes me happy (:_

_And if you enjoy this, please go check out my new Phantom related story (currently a oneshot) – Come To The Angel – it explores Christine's arrival at the Opera House and if I continue then I may change the storyline or just continue it as a lead up to POTO – anyway please read!_


	14. Chapter XIII

_**May 26**__**th**__** 1882**_

It had just reached half midnight and the Vicomte was trying exceedingly hard to maintain a smile as he stood with his final guests on the doorstep of his home. He chuckled as convincingly as he could at a final anecdote rattled off by the elder gentleman in the group before giving a less than enthusiastic wave to the family as the coach finally took them towards the gates and off his property.

Raoul pushed the heavy front door shut before slumping against it and letting out a sigh of utter exhaustion. He could feel the bags under his eyes and his feet had numbed from being up all evening, trying to ensure he'd seen to each individual guest they'd invited. The party had been a nuisance really, Raoul thought to himself as he pulled himself upright and began to head toward the staircase. Neither he nor his wife had even wanted one – purely social protocol, as always…

"Monsieur Vicomte?" The voice of the butler caused Raoul to wearily turn his head, one eyebrow raised in question. "One of the maids is missing, sir. She was meant to be on duty at the party but she hasn't come back down to her quarters…"

Raoul raised a hand to stop the man: "Perhaps she is somewhere else in the house?"

The elder man opened his mouth to protest but, seeing the fatigue on his master's face, merely nodded and went back toward the kitchen. Raoul smiled slightly in relief, his mind now drifting to focus on Christine. She seemed to have retired early from the gathering downstairs but of course Raoul understood this – he hadn't expected her to hang about all night in her condition.

The Vicomte dragged his feet slightly as he grew closer to the bedroom, the thought of collapsing next to Christine and letting sleep take over all too inviting. He stifled a yawn as he paused for a moment outside the dark nursery, a smile crossing his face at the thought of a newborn sleeping here within a couple of months. He had already made a promise to himself he wouldn't turn into a distant father, that he would take a hands on approach. Raoul knew it would be hard work – his sisters' husbands had already admitted that to him – but he would refuse to give up like they had, like his father had. Perhaps if it had been any other woman bearing his child he would feel differently; it was the fact this child would be part of Christine that would keep him going. Raoul didn't know why she had such an effect on him, but even as children when he'd heard the cries of the Swedish girl whose scarf had been lost, his little heart had skipped a beat.

These thoughts of Christine finally drew him away from the nursery, suddenly anxious to wrap his arms round her sleeping form and drift off to the movements of the baby she carried. Raoul grasped the brass handle and slowly turned it, cracking the door open ever so slightly so as not to wake her. However as his hazel eyes adjusted to the darkness he could make out only the discarded garments Christine has been pulling on and off previously, the sheets had not even been pulled back. A lump formed in the man's throat as he pulled the door shut again and held a hand up to his forehead – he'd been so certain she would've snuck off to bed early that he found himself flustered by her absence.

Trying not to panic, Raoul took a deep breath before marching off in the direction of Christine's favourite refuge. But even as he reached the door he knew the silence that had settled down the corridor signified she was not at the piano – his eyes merely confirmed this as he peered round the library door.

Raoul felt his knees begin to give slightly and the lump in his throat grew heavier as he tried to think where on earth she might be but he knew it – Christine couldn't be in the house. The man let his hands come up to his face, his fingers pressing back against the tears that threatened to spill as he tried to think of anywhere else she might've gone to…

"Monsieur?" He jumped at the sound of his butler's voice yet again and used all his discipline to force a smile over his face. "The maid isn't anywhere, Marie is missing…"

The name triggered Raoul's memory – the blonde girl with the brown eyes who looked strikingly like: "Meg…" he whispered the word, bringing his hand back down as his eyes widened in realization. Neither of the Giry's had left the party at the end, yet they weren't anywhere to be seen and he hadn't even given it a second thought.

Raoul bolted down the corridor, ignoring the protests of his servant as he found new energy in a sudden adrenaline rush. He heaved the front door open and immediately rushed toward the gate, too confused and desperate to even think of riding or fetching his carriage. The Vicomte forced himself to keep running toward the Opera house – surely someone there would know of the Giry's whereabouts – but he was losing any sense of direction and all the streets began to look the same to his over-tired mind.

As Raoul paused for a moment trying to work out where exactly he was he suddenly heard the clang of horseshoes and jumped out of the road just in time to prevent being trampled by a passing coach. As he pulled himself off the ground he noted the vehicle had stopped and two gentlemen were exiting the car. Sighing at the thought of facing one of his more proper business contacts as a complete lunatic, Raoul quickly brushed himself down and ran a hand through his hair before turning only to come face to face with Monsieur Andre and Monsieur Firmin.

"Monsieur Vicomte!" Andre gushed at the sight of the young man, pale as a ghost and rather worse for wear. The man pulled off his jacket and handed it to the shaking aristocrat who looked slightly puzzled at the gesture but nonetheless took the garment, though still not putting it on.

"I hate to ask the obvious question… But was there any reason for throwing yourself in front of our horses?" Firmin questioned gruffly, looking slightly bemused. "If you don't want to sign our contract you only have to tell us Monsieur…"

Raoul managed a weak smile before realizing the men weren't going to cause him any harm and gratefully pulled on Andre's offering, his shivering slowly ebbing. "Not at all, Firmin, I'm just trying to find the Giry residence…"

"Well then you're in luck!" Andre's exclamation interrupted Raoul's sentence, for which he was slightly grateful – he wasn't particularly keen to share his wife's escape. "Antoinette had been telling us they were planning to stick around in Paris for a short time – just until the end of Summer, I believe. She gave us her address so we could contact her if any hopes of a rebuild came up…" Andre winked at the mention of the project before reaching into his trouser pocket, his brow creasing slightly as he tried to find the paper he was sure he'd been given.

Firmin let out a snort before reaching across and pulling the address from the breast pocket of Andre's dress shirt. This earnt him an exasperated look from his partner but Firmin merely laughed as he passed the address to the Vicomte without a second thought.

Raoul quickly scanned the card and looked around trying to clock his whereabouts when Andre pointed him in the right direction - "Straight down there, my boy, it'll be on the right side of the boulevard…" And before the sentence was even finished the Vicomte had rushed off down the street, catching a final shout from the men; "This best mean you'll take another look at that contract we've sent!"

Raoul probably would've laughed had he not been so set on his mission to find Christine now – it was coming to be past one and he still hadn't even a clue if his wife was at the Giry residence. His eyes clocked the slither of light coming from one of the townhouse's downstairs rooms when he was still over eight houses away, he knew this was where he wanted to head. Raoul finally came to a stop outside the building and took a moment to take it in – just like all the rest in the street yet the lace curtains were letting out an almost other-worldly glow.

The boy took a deep breath, slightly unnerved by how quiet the house was, before pulling himself up the few steps to the pale blue front door, the paint peeling off as he tapped his fists on the wood. He only did so once for the door opened by itself and Raoul stepped in over the threshold, softly pushing the door closed behind him. It didn't take him long to work out where he wanted to go – there was only one door to his right that clearly led to the lit room. He only took one step when a flash of movement caused him to look to the left instead – Raoul's jaw dropped…

%%%

Erik swallowed hard as the Vicomte locked his eyes onto him like a predator to its target. Internally he cursed himself for not having been quick enough – he'd been locked to the sofa waiting for anyone, anything to emerge from the room since Christine's screams. He wasn't sure how long had passed but his muscles were stiff from waiting and his attempt to escape at the sight of the boy was hindered by it.

The two men stayed very still, nothing breaking the silence between them, but Erik could see that the drowsy look that had been blinding Raoul's eyes was now draining and being taken over. Anger, that was what Erik was starting to see now, mixed with fear – probably a disastrous combination if he didn't get away while he could.

The elder man took one step backwards, trying to get to the wooden steps without triggering a reaction, but of course Erik knew he would have no such luck. A second step led to a screech from a protesting floorboard and Raoul snapped – he launched himself towards his enemy with power one wouldn't think he possessed. Of course, Erik was still fast in spite of age and was up the stairs within a matter of seconds but he could hear the Vicomte coming fast behind him. He rushed to his door but the handle was stiff and as he desperately fumbled with it he felt a heavy fist pummel into his spine.

Erik buckled as he fell to the floor, but was pulled up by his collar and pinned to the wall by the boy's arm before he could even breathe. He tried desperately not to meet his opponent's eyes but Raoul forced him to do so, grabbing his face and knocking his mask off in the process. Raoul grimaced at the sight of the deformity and Erik felt the pressure that had been pinning him loosen – he had to take advantage of this. Before the boy could do anything, the older man had slipped from beneath his forearm and made a try to get to the door again but he had no better luck this time – he felt the Vicomte grab his arm and wrench it against his back, causing Erik to writhe in pain.

"Let me go…" he hissed, finally finding his voice and beginning to fear any noise might cause panic downstairs.

"Give me one good reason," The Vicomte spat the words with pure fury that made Erik nervous – something he hadn't been used to in combat. "You think letting us leave the place cancels everything you did? You think that gets rid of all the memories and the hurt you caused?!"

Erik closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying not to feel so threatened by the low steady tone of the boy. "You've already won…"

"Won?" Raoul twisted his arm further causing him to let at a slight gasp. "This was never a game, how can you say one of us won?"

"You have Christine don't you…"

"And I have to help her through the rest of her life with the mental scars _you've _left behind!" Erik flinched at the words – he knew there was truth in them, but nonetheless he refused to accept this. "She has nightmares about you, she wakes up sweating and terrified and I cradle her until she can bear to close her eyes again." He felt Raoul's lips right beside his ear now as he growled: "How is _that _winning, sir?"

These words had been too much – the thought of Christine hating him, terrified of him, hurt too much for him to think straight anymore. Erik's sanity snapped for a moment and in that moment Raoul had lost any chance of over-powering him.

Erik lashed out at the man, his strength surprisingly overpowering the Vicomte as he tore himself out the younger man's grasp and clenched his hands into fists. Before he could be caught again Erik had already laid a punch, hitting his enemy directly in the nose and causing a sickening crack that brought him back to his senses. He watched in horror as Raoul's nose, now crooked, spewed blood and the boy fell to his knees and slipped into unconsciousness on the floorboards in front of him.

Trying to think of anything to do, Erik spotted his mask and quickly stepped over the Vicomte to retrieve it, slipping it on and finding some comfort in masking his face once more. Then he turned his attention back to the collapsed body and sighed as he tried to gather his strength together. Erik lifted the boy's torso, grunting slightly with the weight of it, before shifting the body up over his shoulder and beginning to slowly plod down the stairs. Before long he was able to lay the Vicomte's unconscious figure along the sofa, quickly propping his head up with a cushion before stepping back and taking a deep breath – Erik knew what was next…

His pale eyes shifted to the slightly ajar door of the downstairs bedroom. He knew the doctor was still in there, as was Antoinette, the only two people who'd be of any use fixing up the bloodied mess he'd caused. Erik knew that he was going to face some serious confrontation from Madame Giry but much as he hated the Vicomte, there was no way he could just leave him the way he was. The least he should do was get bandages and then they could re-focus their attentions once Christine was ok – as he knew she would be.

Erik cautiously went over to the door, trying to swallow the lump in his throat and stop his hands shaking with nerves as he slowly pushed it open. He couldn't even begin to look for the help he sought when he caught the sight of her – his beautiful ingénue was pale as the sheets she was cushioned in. He could see her eyelids fluttering and for someone giving birth she was surprisingly lifeless – this was not the look of a young, healthy mother-to-be Erik knew.

He had been so startled by the sight of her that he'd failed to notice she had fixed her eyes on him too. Panicking, he moved back away from the light of the room and into the comforting shadows of the hallway but still able to view her. However Erik saw that she'd somehow gained some life from the brief moment he'd stood there – he felt tears reach his eyes. She looked in so much pain, she had looked so ready to give up… perhaps it was him that'd made the difference, but he preferred to think she was carrying on for the child. That baby was lucky, he thought – would his mother have carried on for him, had she known what awaited her?

Erik slowly brought himself out his thoughts and was startled when he heard what he knew to be a glorious sound – the first cries of an infant child…

%%%

_You all hate me for leaving it so long and then forcing you back in time so you're no closer to knowing what the baby is like ;) Next chapter I promise! Which may come pretty quickly in succession to this cause I'm inspired to write at the moment :3 I hope you like this chapter, originally this action was gonna spread across two chapters but then I thought I've made you guys wait too long for this so yeah just get on with! :)_

_Please review, let me know whether you're liking this action and characterisations, and if you're wanting a little bit of something different I have a little Phantom one-shot up too about Christine arriving at the Opera House. ANYWAY enjoy! Not abandoned ever :D_


	15. Chapter XIV

_**May 26**__**th**__** 1882**_

Christine let out a sigh of relief at the sounds of crying and finally any feelings of impending doom she'd felt flooding through her had washed away. Instead an intense bliss settled in her heart as she shifted herself up slightly, trying to get comfortable whilst straining to catch a first glimpse of her child at the same time. The thankful expressions on all of the faces around her were a reminder of how disastrous this whole thing could've been but right now Christine didn't care about that. She felt tears trail down her cheeks as she watched Madame Giry swaddle the squirming infant in a peach-coloured sheet that had somehow remained clean throughout the night, her normally stern expression softening as she did so. Finally as she saw the woman make to hand over the bundle, Christine lifted her weary arms and excitedly looked down as she nestled the blankets close to her breast.

A heart-shaped, delicate face was cushioned between the folds of material, the lips a delicate pink and puckered beneath an adorable button nose. Christine found the energy to bring her hand round to the baby's head, lightly brushing back the wisps of chestnut hair similar to her own, and as she did so the baby's eyes finally fluttered open. If the new mother had still had any uncertainty about paternity then the striking ghostly-blue eyes would've confirmed it – however in Christine's case this was only further evidence of what she knew to be true. Yet this reminder did not make her feel guilty or sick as all the others had over the past months, nor did it make her want to forget and play at happy families with Raoul like normal. Instead Christine beamed at the miracle she held, fresh tears welling up, as she planted an affectionate kiss to the fragile forehead of her premature newborn.

"It's a girl," Madame Giry spoke gently and brought to Christine's attention the fact that she was being watched. The brunette let out a slight laugh, perhaps in shock though she wasn't sure, before looking back to the daughter she now cradled lovingly – _her _daughter.

"Oh Christine," Meg sat carefully on the edge of the bed reaching out a hand to stroke the little girl's head. "She's beautiful, so small too…" Christine smiled grew even wider at the truth in her friends words – this child was a blessing.

"I think you ought to try feeding her, Madame De Chagny," The doctor chipped in with business in his voice, clearly wanting to finish up after a long night and leave them to it. Christine nodded gratefully to him and then watched as he left, with Madame Giry and Marie (whom she'd been unaware was present) following behind.

Left alone with her best friend, Christine slowly passed her daughter to Meg before sitting herself up in a more comfortable position and unbuttoning the front of her dress as best she could given the fact it had apparently been partially torn off her at some point. Tenderly she took the baby back in her arms and supported the petite head as she encouraged the youngster to suckle, with success. A touch on her elbow caused the soprano to turn; Meg was quite clearly enamored with the child already.

"What are you going to name her?" The blonde almost whispered the words before turning her gaze to her friend once more.

Christine nibbled her lip slightly as she looked down at the cherub-like creature she'd created, her thoughts rather cluttered. She tried to think of any of the names she'd found in books whilst spending endless days in the library, awaiting Raoul to finish work. There was only one she could remember: "Isobel…" She tested the name, the feel of it on her tongue and couldn't help but smile. "Yes, she'll be called Isobel."

"_What is wrong with you?"_ Both girls started at the raised voice of the ballet mistress coming from the hallway, clearly angered. They tried to listen closer but Christine only caught one word. "_…The Vicomte…"_

Her eyes immediately fluttered down to Isobel who'd stopped feeding and lay content, eyes closed, in her mother's safe grasp. Would Raoul be able to tell this perfectly formed baby that she'd carried wasn't his blood, she wondered? Those pale eyes fixated on her again and a grin spread over her daughter's face. Christine chuckled for a moment and lifted a finger to stroke the girl's cheek – Raoul should be the last of her worries, she decided. Perhaps she shouldn't even have to face him again after this, now she knew for sure; how could she face him now she'd born another man's child?

"Christine," She was brought out her thoughts by Meg's voice, milder than usual. "Would you like me to fetch… Well, I mean do you want to see-"

"Erik?" Christine finished the sentence for her friend. "If you wouldn't mind," She gave her friend a grateful look as she disappeared through the door in a cloud of blonde waves and then couldn't help but look back down to Isobel, complete adoration in her eyes. Christine still couldn't quite believe this was really her baby, a part of her and yet also a part of…

The click of the door shutting caused her to look up – and there he stood. Erik was not quite as she remembered him – he seemed more flustered, his skin was paler and he didn't seem as threatening as before. Nonetheless, Christine couldn't help but let her smile grow even wider at the sight of him after all this time and she couldn't help but gain some comfort from his presence.

"It's really you…" She muttered as Erik shifted uncomfortably beneath her gaze and he looked down at the floor, uncertain of what he should do. As more sounds came from the hallway she creased her brow slightly: "What's going on out there?"

"Well…" Erik had started and Christine looked up at him expectantly, glad to have enticed him into conversation so easily. "There was an… an intruder, whilst you were all in here and I may have taken matters into my own hands." He quickly cut in as a gasp escaped her: "No-not like that! I mean, well, I just broke his nose…"

Christine couldn't help but snort slightly at this, causing Erik to look up from the floor and smirk slightly. But as she watched this soon changed to slight guilt and then: "I'm sorry, I lied," He had blurted the words out before she could ask. "I… The intruder wasn't…" Christine frowned as he sighed before meeting her gaze properly again. "It was Raoul…"

She felt her jaw drop, but Christine knew this was just because of Raoul's presence in the house rather than Erik's actions – how could he have followed her here? She'd left long before the party ended and somehow he'd still managed to find her. This rather ruined her plans to remain away from him for a short time. Christine looked down to her daughter who was half-asleep in her aching arms; she needed time to work out what she could do now she'd had Erik's child.

"So," he broke the silence before she'd finished her trail of thought, not that she minded – it would keep her calm. "How have you been? I mean you know, before all this." Erik gestured to the bed and Christine again found herself suppressing laughter – she'd never realized quite how much joy she found with him, she hadn't felt the urge to truly laugh in a long time.

"I've been," For a moment she yearned spill her heart out to him, to tell him how miserable and guilty she'd been every day since she'd left him. She wanted to shout at him for leaving, she wanted to cry to him about how lonely life was with Raoul but most of all she wanted to get up, to embrace him, to feel his familiar lips against her own. But Christine closed her eyes for a second and took a deep breath whilst blinking back any tears that'd threatened to spill – it wouldn't be fair to do any of that, not right now. "I've been well, thank you, it's been… It's been a quiet life I suppose." She smiled weakly, knowing she probably wasn't convincing him. "I've missed my voice lessons though, doing scales at the piano alone isn't nearly as fun…"

She looked for a reaction to any of this but instead saw Erik's eyes fixed on the sheets in her arms and her lips turned up in amusement. "You could hold her…" He suddenly looked up to meet her eyes and Christine was surprised to see a slight blush reach his good cheek. She watched as his mind seemed to decide whether this was appropriate but she'd already decided a refusal wasn't an option – she needed him to hold her, to cradle _his _child, even if it didn't know it.

Warily Erik moved toward the bed and nervously perched on the edge, taking extra care that he didn't cause her any sudden movement. Christine shifted the blankets in her arms careful not to stir Isobel from her light sleep, for it was probably better Erik didn't see the eyes that he would no doubt recognize as his own. She made to pass the bundle to him but his arms remained bolted to his sides, hands in his lap and twiddling his thumbs.

"You don't have to be worried," She spoke kindly to him with an affectionate expression and slowly the haunting blue eyes came to meet hers'. "She won't fuss…"

Erik still looked nervous, like a performer on opening night, but gradually he lifted his arms to the peach blanket and before she knew it he was cradling Isobel like she might break at any second. Christine lifted a hand to rub his arm, surprised to feel him flinch at her touch but not looking up – all Erik's attention was focused on keeping the baby safe, he was a natural…

"What's its name?"

"Oh," Christine had forgotten she was yet to tell him. "It's a girl – I've named her Isobel…"

Erik nodded, still not moving his gaze from the infant in his arms as he visibly shook with nerves. She continued to rub his arm in an attempt to comfort him, peering over his shoulder to ensure the girl's eyes remained firmly shut…

"_Where is he?!" _Suddenly both of them jumped as they heard the bellowing from the corridor – the unmistakable sound of Raoul's voice. Erik immediately dumped the baby back in Christine's arms and made a break for the door that joined to the kitchen, no doubt to wait until Raoul was out of the hall and dart upstairs. She was so focused on Erik's movements that Christine wasn't paying attention to her daughter fully until the tiny child began to wail, clearly upset after the sudden change of faces. Softly cooing to the girl, Christine lifted her up to her shoulder and rubbed her back soothingly trying to hush her but she already knew it was too late….

"Christine?" His voice came from the doorway in a hushed tone, almost as though he were in awe. Raoul made his way to the bed and Christine tried with all her might and through all her exhaustion to plaster a glad expression across her face, the guilt at the pit of her stomach growing with every step he made.

As her husband sat on the bed, Christine had to be careful not to tumble as the mattress shifted. She didn't want to look at him, she couldn't face those eyes…

"Is this…" She nodded, wondering why he should ask such an unnecessary question.

"It's a girl, Isobel," She muttered under her breath. She felt an arm slip round her back and watched as Raoul lightly touched her daughter's downy brown hair. Christine finally dared to look up and was almost physically hurt by the utter wonder she saw in Raoul's expression – his lopsided smile was as perfect as ever, his dimples showing despite the bandages across his nose, and his hazel eyes were gleaming with what she guessed must be happy tears. She was a horrible person, he was already so invested and she may well have to tell him…

"_Our _girl," Raoul tested the words and Christine almost physically winced at them. "She's a perfect little beauty, Christine…" He pressed his lips to her damp forehead with a fierce passion that had Christine feeling she might be sick.

The brunette felt overwhelmed by his presence – it was not until she met Meg's eyes over Raoul's shoulder that she felt she may have some control again. Their look shared all of Christine's anguish and in return the sympathy of the ballerina was passed back as they found themselves wondering the same question: how could things possibly progress from here?

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_I TOLD YOU IT WOULD BE UP SOON – although this will probably the last in a while as my storyline only has one more chapter planned out after this. However just so you know, it's never abandoned – even if I'm like a grandma and still typing :L I feel my heart break a little every time I have to write Raoul because he's such a sweetheart in this and I know I'm gonna have to have his downfall at some point :( Oh well, I'll get over it – enjoy and please review! :)_


	16. Chapter XV

_**May 26**__**th**__** 1882**_

Erik lifted a hand to his head, rubbing his eyelids and sighing as he tried to stop his mind from racing. This morning he'd risen from his bed expecting a quiet evening in an empty house trying to decide whether or not catching a glimpse of the Vicomtess de Chagny would do him any good – now he sat in that same bed having rescued said lady and the young ballet girl, attacked that fop of a boy she'd married and held the premature infant that was now with Christine in the room downstairs.

Sitting up and reaching for his pocket watch on his bedside table, Erik groaned at the time – a quarter to three in the morning. It must've been about an hour since the house had finally settled down, the Vicomte having left in the doctor's care once told that it was best to be safe and keep him on the ward in case of concussion. He'd listened as the boy argued continuously about leaving his wife before Christine had finally managed to coax the man to go with the promise he'd see her the following day. There'd also been a conversation before Meg and her mother went to bed about the make-shift sling she'd been wearing as a result of their tumble earlier, but the little blonde had insisted that her arm was mended. After that, doors had shut and presumably the household had simultaneously gone to sleep… Excluding himself of course, Erik thought bitterly.

Swinging his legs round to the edge of the bed and shoving his boney feet into his slippers, the man stood and grabbed his black robe from the back of his door as he headed toward the staircase. Erik took care to be as silent as possible, his Phantom days lending him the skill to move as a ghost around the house. As he went toward the kitchen he couldn't help but sneak a look through the crack in the door of the guest room but the moonlight only allowed him to make out the shape of a wicker Moses' basket. He hadn't thought Meg or the maid girl (who incidentally had stayed and was in Christine's old room upstairs) had been carrying such an object upon entering the house earlier, but then again Antoinette always had the most obscure objects stored away that it wouldn't surprise him if she'd produced the object for the girl before retiring to bed.

Forcing himself to look away, Erik moved into the kitchen and set about filling the copper kettle and setting it up to boil. He tried to busy himself by searching out a cup and saucer, trying to find any milk or sugar in spite of the fact he preferred neither in his tea, anything to avoid his thoughts drifting back to the woman who slept peacefully merely a wall away from him. He couldn't help but let his gaze travel to the second door leading from where he stood directly into the bedroom – the same door he'd escaped through earlier – and it would take him directly to Christine…. And the child.

It was now he let his thoughts think of the baby, the little girl who no doubt would be unaware of his existence and this fact caused his heart to twist uncomfortably. Perhaps it was due to his unusual moments of connection with the child throughout the day but Erik found that strangely he felt as drawn to the babe as he was to her mother. Even now he was unconsciously getting closer and closer to that doorway but he stopped himself from reaching out for the door handle. It wouldn't be fair to disturb the young mother, not after the night she'd had.

That's when Erik's finely tuned ears picked up the soft whimpers coming from the room. It was natural the newborn would not sleep the night through, he supposed, but she'd soon settle no doubt. He made to turn back to the kettle when the whimpering became louder and some invisible force halted him in his tracks. Erik knew he shouldn't…

Letting out an exhausted sigh, his lithe figure moved and with skilled fingers he managed to push the door ajar, slip into the dark room and close it all without making a single noise. The distressed cry of the infant seemed to hush at his presence and for a second he considered turning back to the kitchen. But curiosity got the better of him and before he knew it Erik was above the crib looking down at the small swaddled bundle in the crib.

This was his chance to properly study the new born, having had to swiftly abandon his previous attempt on account of the Vicomte. One skeletal finger moved down to ever so softly caress the downy chocolate locks that already adorned the little girl's head before moving leisurely down to stroke the soft skin of Isobel's cheek in interest. Erik's lips turned up slightly as he catalogued all of the features reflecting his Angel that lay in the bed until the smile was quickly wiped off his face by one glaring detail.

The Phantom had finally met the haunting, pale blue eyes looking up at him with innocent curiosity and they were a sight he was all too familiar with; he'd seen them in every mirror, every puddle, every single reflection of himself he'd ever had the misfortune to look upon.

Erik snatched his hand back to his chest as though burnt and began to shake his head in disbelief. Surely it was a coincidence, this wasn't physically possible, and he hadn't even seen Christine in-

_Seven months._

Slowly his head turned to look at the figure huddled under the blankets with only a mess of curls visible as they spilled out across the pillow. Seven months since that night together and at last Erik understood why his mind had been so focused on the gestational period – Christine had been carrying his child.

The man forced his eyes back to the ghostly orbs that sparkled as they watched him in ignorant bliss. Now as he looked Isobel over he found the button-nose set in the pale face framed with chestnut ringlets could all be accounted for by her mother but as Erik looked closer he began to note that, even with the roundness of a youthful face, the girl had higher set cheekbones than Christine, more like that of his good side. A closer inspection of the puckering lips allowed him to note they were not the fuller, coral ones of the soprano but rather thinner and paler like his own. His attention to detail even allowed him to note that it was not just the colour but the shape of the eyes that reflected his.

Erik started as the kettle whistled next door and a groan came from the bed. He darted across the room and was back in the kitchen fixing himself the tea, though given his discovery he knew the beverage would have no effect on his insomnia, before he could be noticed. However as he unhurriedly stirred the liquid he listened to Christine in the adjoining room. He heard her stand and pad in the direction of Isobel, who'd resumed her whimpering now he was absent and smiled to himself at the thought his presence had soothed the little thing. As he did so he forgot to focus on the sounds from the connecting bedroom until…

"Erik?" He almost dropped his cup on hearing her voice. Cursing himself for jumping out of his skin, Erik forced himself to turn and face her; he was uncomfortable to see she had Isobel in her arms but tried to keep his gaze off the bundle of blankets. "Are you alright?" Christine questioned, concern marring her features.

Erik took a sip of his tea and swallowed before turning his mouth up in what he knew would look like a pitiful smile. "Perfectly well, thank you."

"You're sure?" She stepped a little further into the kitchen whilst examining his face. "Only your cheeks look a little damp…"

He lifted a hand and found his cheek was indeed wet as she had described, and Erik realized that he must have wept upon regarding the infant. He shrugged at her: "Perhaps the heat of the stove got to me, I hadn't noticed," It was a feeble lie but he hoped she wouldn't probe any further – his heart was beating a mile a minute as it was, being in the same room as his Christine while she cradled their… No, he had to get away now. "I must be heading back to bed now, I only came down to make something to aid with sleep. I apologise, I didn't mean to disturb you."

"Erik," As he made to escape she'd managed to grab his elbow with one hand and although she was only doing so lightly it was enough to freeze him to the spot. "You know you can tell me if there was something wrong?" He visibly flinched at her kind words that had totally missed the mark – that child being his shouldn't have been something wrong. But Erik reasoned with himself, as he turned his head and met that ghostly gaze so like his own, that if Christine had kept this secret… Well, clearly she thought differently.

"You should rest," He managed to tear his eyes from Isobel and looked into the soft green ones of her mother. "No doubt that your husband will be back as soon as possible."

And with that cold reminder of why he had to restrain himself, Erik finally made his way back up the stairs leaving Christine confused at what to make of the unusual interaction. His behavior had been utterly bizarre, even for Erik. Hearing his door close and Isobel starting to fuss in her arms, she went back about her business, left to ponder over the conversation as she returned to her bed and fed her daughter.

Similarly, Erik lay on his bed and left the tea to go cold as he allowed all the revelations of the night to rush through his head. Over and over again he examined the facts but of course each time his brilliant mind only came to the same conclusion:

Isobel was his daughter.

%%%

_I'M SO SORRY – I'm such an awful person at updating but my mind goes dead with lack of ideas and I was struggling on where to take this. However like I always say it is never an abandoned story, just always slowly cooking. Been almost 11 months since the last update so I don't know if you'll even remember the story but still I hope you enjoy this chapter! Possibly more to come? I'm kind of stuck on where to take it so feel free to message with any ideas/what you think or want to read :)_

_Also yaay Erik finally worked it out – I hope that made some of you happy, I personally have been wanting to make him realize for a while but now seemed the right time!_


	17. Chapter XVI

_**May 26**__**th**__** 1882**_

It was about eight o'clock when Christine received her first visitor of the day – Marie gently knocked on the door and greeted her Mistress with a shy smile, bringing the new mother a fresh set of clothing and a cup of tea. Smiling gratefully at the young maid as she left, Christine lifted the green cotton of the garment to her body and peered in a mirror propped against the wall. She bit her lip in worry as she noted the dress may well be a challenge to get on, for women didn't simply snap back to normal after pregnancy had ended (much to her displeasure) and this particular article had been given to her well over two years ago whilst she still danced at the Opera House.

Nonetheless, she dutifully unbuttoned the front and, after removing the robe she'd put on to cover her somewhat tattered party attire, attempted to pull the material over her abdomen. Trying and failing to avoid the still painful wound from the previous evening, Christine winced but persevered and slipped her still slender arms into the mid-length sleeves. Her fingers moved down the front of the bodice to the first button and the soprano took a deep breath, eyes closed, before tugging the fastening to meet the material on the other side. Fortunately the old cotton had some give in it and had previously hung loosely on the slim chorus girl's frame so the task was not quite the trial she'd expected. Looking back to the mirror she pulled a face to see her bump, though it had considerably shrunk, was still prominent enough to make her uncomfortable – not that she planned for any of the public to see her like this.

A small whimper from the whicker cot stirred Christine from her thoughts and she couldn't help but let a proud smile cross her features as she went to comfort Isobel, gently lifting her pint-size form in one arm and stroking the brunette wisps on her daughter's head with her free hand. The delicately-shaped pale blue eyes that continuously watched with an innocent curiosity were staring directly into Christine's own and she couldn't help but lean down and press a chaste kiss to her baby's forehead. She hadn't been prepared to feel so attached so quickly, but there was clearly some truth to the tales of mother-child bonds that Raoul's family had continuously spouted over the past few months…

…And just like that her thoughts were dragged back to Raoul. She'd managed to convince him to accompany the doctor with promises he would see her again today and yet she got a horrible sinking feeling in her stomach just thinking about it. Christine wasn't a dishonest person, or at least it didn't come naturally to her – how could she continue to tell her husband lies for the rest of their lives when she'd flinched just yesterday at his claims of Isobel as his own. He was bound to recognize her discomfort sooner or later and then there would be the awful moment when she finally had to admit what she'd done; that moment would only become worse the longer she stretched out this charade.

She had to tell him the truth. Raoul was a kind, loving husband and he needed, if not deserved, a woman who was fiercely loyal to him, that adored his every feature and quirk, who lived to see that lopsided smile that Christine herself had treasured. She couldn't be that girl, not for him. She had to let him go.

A knock on the door caused her to jump, making Isobel begin to sob in the process. She gently shushed her daughter, softly calling "come in" to the door as she did so and was glad to see Meg's blonde head poke around the door.

"If you're busy I can come back?" Her friend offered, but Christine merely shook her head and so the girl came into the room whilst pushing the door shut behind her. "Maman wanted me to ask whether you wanted one of us to accompany you to the hospital, since we're not sure whether the Vicomte will have been discharged yet. After all, the, um-" Meg paused. "Accident? Well it happened less than twenty four hours ago so I doubt he'll be allowed to leave yet."

Christine nodded her head, slowly placing Isobel back down in the Moses' basket now she'd stopped crying. "I would appreciate the company," She murmured, clearly nervous as she began to nibble at her bottom lip which didn't go unnoticed by Meg.

She raised a hand to the brunette's shoulder, concerned: "Christine?"

The woman swallowed before taking her friend's hand in both her own and meeting her gaze: "I need to tell him the truth, about Isobel, about Eri-"

"Christine are you certain that's a wise idea?" Meg quickly interjected, for she'd anticipated this conversation would happen at some point. She'd spent much of last night thinking of what to say to her friend when it did. "I mean firstly he's been injured, he's in hospital – is he really in any state to hear all this? What if he forgets the entire discussion, we don't know the full extent to which he's been injured yet… And then there's your marriage, he'll be mortified when he has to tell his family and all his associates, the media could get hold of the whole scandal and his life will become utterly miserable because not only will he have lost the woman he loves but he'll have to be constantly reminded about it by the press for weeks!"

The soprano groaned, burying her face in her hands. "I'd never really thought of all that," came the muffled words from between her fingers. She lifted her head to look at Meg again, tears threatening to spill from the corners of her eyes. "It shouldn't have happened like this. That should be Raoul's baby lying in that crib…"

"…Or Erik's ring on your finger?" Meg hesitantly added gaining an anxious glance from the pale green eyes. "Oh Christine, you can't keep lying to yourself you know." She lifted a warm hand to the woman's slightly damp cheek. "You wouldn't have searched for him all that time ago, nor gone to the warehouse, and you certainly wouldn't have created a child with him if it wasn't Erik that you loved."

Christine shook her head, her voice hoarse: "No, you don't understand, we just have a connection, his music, my voice-"

"You love him, Christine," Meg's voice was stead and calm, if not slightly quiet to prevent eavesdropping. "The Angel of Music helped you through the hardest times of your life, _Erik _soothed you and taught you and nurtured you – how could you not love him?"

The silence stretched between them for what felt like hours before the soprano spoke. "I feel like I shouldn't, I feel like I can't," She almost whispered the words. "In my head all these months I've forced myself to think of Raoul and only Raoul, of how happy he makes me, how considerate he is, how much he loves me… But when I dream I can't force myself anymore, I let my guard down. And every dream was of my Erik, Meg. Not one night went by where he didn't appear to me again, where he didn't return to that warehouse and envelope me in his arms where I was safe again." She paused and her eyes held so much turmoil and despair that Meg wanted nothing more than to take the weight from Christine's shoulders. "He's killed people Meg. We all know it and yet somehow I feel safest with him near me."

The blonde rubbed the woman's shoulder sympathetically. "He's changed a bit, you know, since going to England. He's had to learn to be around us, to be more human again – it's done him a world of good. He's not the Phantom anymore," She smiled reassuringly. "You don't have to be afraid of his past."

Sniffing slightly to hold back any tears, Christine grinned appreciatively at her friend and took her in her arms in a tight embrace that she desperately needed. "I have to tell the truth. To both of them."

Meg slowly nodded against Christine's shoulder, her blonde waves bobbing up and down as she did so. The two friends slowly peeled apart and just stood for a moment, holding one another's hands as they took in this calm before the inevitable storm.

"Meg?" Madame Giry's voice rung through from the kitchen and at the sound of her mother the ballerina reluctantly released Christine and moved to the door which joined the two rooms. "Have you done as I asked?"

"Yes, Maman," She chimed. "I'll be accompanying Christine to the hospital."

"Very well," The ballet mistress moved through to the bedroom and peered at the newborn, who was fidgeting in her blankets. A rare smirk crossed her lips at the sight of the little one. "I will be happy to watch this one for you while you're gone, my dear."

The girl smiled at the woman who'd been like a mother to her and leant down to kiss her daughter's forehead, allowing herself to stroke the downy-curls one more time before slipping out into the hall. Meg had already put her own cloak on and held out a spare black one for Christine. Taking a deep, supposedly soothing, breath she pulled on the wrap before following her friend out the door to face the consequences of over seven months of secrets.

%%%

"Right this way, ladies," The doctor from the previous night had clearly had a chance to go home and clean up because he looked rather too fresh for someone who'd been up at all hours. "The Vicomte is in one of the private rooms, we felt it was necessary, given his status, that we kept him off the ward."

Christine could feel her hands shaking as they turned the corner and it certainly didn't help to be in this clinical, white environment that had a strange smell which caused her nose to scrunch up. Her stomach was doing somersaults and she could feel perspiration start to form on her forehead. She and Meg hadn't spoken a word on the walk to the hospital, although they'd had to go painfully slow so that Christine didn't make her injury from the previous day any worse (in truth she shouldn't have been out of the house for a few days according to the doctor).

"Here you are," The man smiled at them both, gesturing to a door beside him. "Don't worry about visiting times – it doesn't matter so much off the wards. Just let me know when you're done." He mockingly wagged a finger a Christine. "And no more venturing out of the house after this if you want that nasty cut to heal."

Not much in the mood to smile, she merely moved to the door and let Meg give an apologetic look to the blanked man before shuffling in the direction of the door as well. The room was fairly bare, a couple of chairs in one corner were the only furniture in the room other than the hospital bed with its headboard pushed to the wall opposite the door. Raoul sat looking bored out of his mind until he heard the door open and Christine tried to smile weakly as his face lit up on the sight of her. She heard the door close and realized Meg must've left the two alone, out of thoughtfulness no doubt but with the additional chance she was chasing after the doctor (she'd been looking him up and down since they got here).

Slowly she moved to shift one of the chair next to the bed, her husband's hand grasping her's before she'd even sat down. She hoped he hadn't noticed it was clammy and cold, matching the feeling of her forehead. Christine felt as though she may vomit at any moment.

"You have no idea how glad I am to see you," Raoul cheerfully remarked, trying to catch her eye as he leant down to press a kiss to her knuckles. "It's been dull as anything sitting here all morning… Well, I say all morning, I didn't wake up till about an hour ago – I suppose I didn't have my beautiful early bird to wake me. Still, it's probably the last decent night's sleep I'll get for a while now we have our little one, huh?" He winked, flashing her that smile that didn't do anything to settle her nerves.

Christine's sour expression finally caught his attention and his brown creased. "Raoul…"

"Are you not well either, Christine?" He questioned, reaching his hand to feel her forehead and finding it damp and cool. "It's not after last night is it?"

"I'm not ill, Raoul," She spoke in a voice that was surprisingly composed. "I just need to get something off my chest." She felt his hand release her own and she brought herself to meet his gaze – he deserved that much. "The thing is… Well after all that happened at the Opera House-"

"If this is going to be about that gargoyle who attacked me last night then I don't want to discuss it," Raoul's voice was cold. "I mean, can you believe those Girys! Harbouring a criminal like that after everything he did to us all. Disgusting behavior."

"They mean no harm by it, Raoul-"

"It'll only lead to trouble keeping that man alive, you know. If I were Madame Giry I'd have handed him in to the police the moment he asked for help, I thought that woman had enough sense to do such a thing. That man needs to be punished."

"No!" His interruptions and ranting had hit a nerve with Christine. Her green eyes glared in his direction and Raoul looked at her with a confused expression.

"Oh come on, Christine, the man is a monster-"

"No, he is not – he's a man, just like you said." She spoke steadily and with an aloofness that caught her husband off guard. "It's true he's done some terrible, terrible things but he has been punished by the world every single day of his life, even as a child. People have never given him even an ounce of respect or human kindness, hell his own mother looked down her nose at him! But now he's learning to function normally again, he's beginning to understand what's appropriate in the world. He knows his actions were wrong – but that's his past."

Raoul was now looking at her through narrowed eyes. "I suppose these are the Girys' words reassuring you, but where's the proof Christine?"

"It's not just their words, I've seen it myself," She saw her husband visibly stiffen and the angry glint formed in his eyes but she had stay strong. "I saw him last night and he was not the man he had been, he was timid and gentle. It was almost like he couldn't hurt anyone even if he wanted-"

Raoul snorted (causing him to wince) and pointed to the bandage across his nose. "You mean the man who did this to me? And when did he do this again… Oh, that's right – _last night_. Christine he'll never change, he's not like you and I, he doesn't have morals or a sense of honour."

"That's not true!" She raised her voice, her eyes watering slightly. She cursed her hormones for letting her emotions run wild, she shouldn't have cared so much hearing Raoul talk like this. Sweet, loving Raoul who was now bad-mouthing the man that she… Could she really admit this?

"What's gotten into you?" He questioned, the anger now gone as he reached for her forehead again. "Are you sure you aren't ill, delusional even?"

"You presume because I disagree with you that I must be delusional?!" Christine knew she was getting worked up for no reason and her words had visibly hurt Raoul, who retracted his arm and gave her a worried glance.

"Of course not," He mumbled. "I just… I suppose we never really talked about him, after that night in the catacombs. I didn't realise you held these views back then-"

"I didn't," Christine cut in. "Or at least I didn't realise I did, until more recently." She was wringing her hands in her lap nervously and her bottom lip began to tremble. She had to do this: "I love him."

Awkward quiet followed the statement and Raoul's face remained frozen in a neutral expression for approximately ten seconds. It remained like this as he quietly asked: "I beg your pardon?"

Christine swallowed and folded her arms across her chest. "I love him. I was foolish not to notice it before, but-"

"No," Raoul cut in with a loud but calm word. She looked at her husband confused and was about to continue speaking when he held up a hand to her. "I don't want to hear your confusion. I want you to stop and then consider the magnitude of what you're about to say. This marriage can survive what you've just said, but only if we leave it at that. My reputation will be destroyed and I can't afford that. I need this marriage and, quite frankly, so do you"

Christine's cheeks were turning red as she got hot with anger. These weren't the words of the Raoul de Chagny she knew, this was a desperate man who _knew_ his wife was turning from him and was clutching at anything to keep her on side. Sadly for him, blackmail wouldn't work.

"How dare you," She whispered. "How dare you say such a thing to me?"

"No, how dare you!" He bellowed, now clearly losing whatever composure he'd clung on to before. "How dare _you _mess me around like this. I won't have it, do you understand. I was taught that marriage is forever binding and I won't have you ruin that, I won't have your seduction of me lead to my downfall!" Christine was getting more and more worked up with every word; just a few more choice words and she may well explode. "I mean for God's sake, Christine, how do you manage to take our marriage vows so lightly? I mean, we've just had a child together-"

"She isn't yours!"

%%%

_Cliffhanger! I know you'll all hate me for that because I'm awful at updating but I'm not gonna lie I have no idea what I'm doing with this story anymore so we'll see, you might get lucky and have an update sooner than you might think since I'm on holiday!_

_I hope you enjoy it and please feel free to leave a review, favourite or follow the story :)_


	18. Chapter XVII

_**May 26**__**th**__** 1882**_

_She isn't yours_.

The words had been blurted out in a red haze of anger brought on by her husband's new attitude and yet the moment she had thrown them out, like a weapon, Christine was brought back to Earth with a heavy thump. What had she just done?

Nervously she watched Raoul's face as he stopped mid-shout and just stared at the wall opposite, jaw still slack as he seemed to digest the four syllables that had escaped her. Slowly, his mouth closed and he turned to meet her green gaze that swam with a mixture of anger, pain, confusion, fear, too many emotions to pin-point. It worried her that she was unable to read the hazel eyes that were void of any kind of reaction at all. His face, too, was blank and Christine began to fidget in the uncomfortable silence that lingered in the hospital room and was bound to continue if she didn't break it.

"Raoul?" Christine whispered, her face showing concern as she slowly lifted her hand to rest on his forearm.

The touch seemed to awaken the Vicomte from his bewilderment and he snatched his arm to his chest as though he'd just been burnt. The flood barriers finally opened and his eyes welled up with hurt and misunderstanding as he seemed to be searching her own green gaze for the truth. She hoped he saw the apology she was trying to push through the frustration she'd previously felt.

"Tell me it's a lie," the broken voice that spoke the soft words shattered Christine's heart more than she expected. Her husband, whom she did love, looked as though everything he held dear was falling from his grasp – and the fact it was all down to her made things ten times more awful. But now the truth was out and she had to stick to it.

"I'm sorry," Christine's voice was gentle but surprisingly steady as she folded her hands in her lap. "I can tell you the whole story if you want but I'm not sure it would make anything better."

Slowly Raoul nodded in agreement looking down at his bed sheets, anything to avoid looking at his wife. She knew he'd no doubt already connected the dots between her two confessions and had worked out the paternity. It was scaring her how quickly he'd turned from anger to grief, but then she'd just as rapidly turned to pity. She'd prepared herself for the rage she'd assumed would come her way but Christine felt this calm sorrow was far worse.

"That's why you were sobbing when you found out?" the shaky voice asked. She simply nodded, some of her messy curls falling forward as she did. "Was it… Did happen after we were married?" He choked on the last word.

"No, Raoul," Christine spoke softly, gently placing her hand on his and this time he didn't flinch away. "Once we married I was determined I was going to give my all to this relationship. If I'd known… Well I wouldn't have dragged you into this mess." She heard him sniff hard and saw another tear fall down his cheek. "I never set out to hurt anyone, Raoul, I do love you-"

"But I'm not _him_." The final word had acidity to it but the look he gave her was one merely filled with longing. He wrapped his hand around her's and gave it a light squeeze before allowing her to slip out of his grasp. Christine looked down to see her ring finger was now bare – both the diamond and plain gold band were resting in Raoul's palm. Her eyes were filled with uncertainty and she stared at his regretful face which suddenly turned to a weak smile. "I understand how it feels to love, Little Lotte. Who am I to stop you pursuing it?"

The brunette felt her own eyes tear up at the most selfless words she'd ever heard in her lifetime and couldn't help but jump up and envelope her oldest friend in a tight hug. As his own muscular arms wrapped around her still-rounded form, any thoughts of animosity evaporated and were replaced by a tranquil acceptance between the couple. Slowly she pulled away and had to swallow hard as he placed a light kiss to her knuckles before Christine moved carefully toward the door, looking back several times.

It took every ounce of strength Raoul had to give her a slight, reassuring grin as she left but he was reminded of something his sister's had once discussed growing up – 'men that truly love a woman will put her happiness before their own'. For once they're girlish gossip had come in useful, but it was certainly the hardest thing he'd had to do yet in his life.

The moment the door closed he let his face drop. He'd expected himself to break down in tears, or to be angry and punch the walls to his knuckles bled. Instead the Vicomte found he felt quite hollow, unable to express anything – he simply felt nothing and that scared him more than the other reactions ever could. He wondered whether he and Christine would ever cross paths again, whether his heart would be able to survive such an encounter.

The truth was, after setting her free, Raoul De Chagny would not see the soprano for over a decade.

%%%

Christine walked through the front door, arm in arm with Meg as she blinked hard trying to sooth her stinging eyes that had ached from lack of sleep before they'd even got to the hospital – her tears certainly hadn't helped them.

Upon their entry Madame Giry walked into the hall, Isobel enveloped in a crisp white sheet and cradled securely in her arms. Seeing Christine's red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks, the older woman snapped into action as she lightly thrust the baby into her daughter's arms and directed her toward the kitchen before gently ushering the brunette onto the sofa at the bottom of the stairs.

"Christine," Her normally strict tone was now soft and comforting and the fearful green eyes that looked up her made it clear this was the correct approach. "Tell me everything."

And so that's exactly what she did, spilled out all her fears, her worries, every detail of the past months finally pouring out of her. Antoinette sat still and silent as she listened, seeming to know exactly what to do at each moment – when to make a sympathetic noise, when to lightly grasp the girl's hand and when to pull the poor thing into a full on embrace as the sobs heaved out of her.

%%%

_Short chapter for you all – Raoul is now out of the story and I feel we're meeting our climax, Madame Giry is at last clued in to everything. But of course there's still one very important person our Christine needs to talk to before we can bring this story to an end._

_Not sure when I'll next update but thank you all for the lovely reviews/follows/favourites, every single one makes me smile :)_


	19. Chapter XVIII

_**May 26**__**th**__** 1882**_

Erik had been awake for the entire night, pacing his bedroom up to a hundred times as he tried to work out a plan of action to go forward from his realization. It had been about eight o'clock in the morning before he'd recognized he couldn't come up with a strategy until he knew what he wanted the end result to be and about three hours later he'd ended up slumped at his desk, his head against the weathered surface and fast asleep. The difficult decisions had been too much for even his brain to process and, although he was used to keeping unsociable hours, this shock to the system had all been too much.

It was at four that afternoon he was jolted awake by a knocking at his door. Rubbing his left eye whilst feeling his right cheek to ensure his mask hadn't come off he sleepily called permission for his visitor to enter. Erik stood and stretched his arms to the ceiling, his back cracking in protest, before turning to find Christine, not Meg as was usual, holding his afternoon beverage.

Both were frozen in place, nervous energy charging the space between them as the ghostly blue eyes held the gaze of the pale green ones. It was Christine who broke the silence, clearing her throat as she moved to place the crockery down on the desk behind him. Not wanting any accidental contact with the woman, Erik swiftly moved away and stood awkwardly at the foot of the bed with his back to her. He tried to take deep breaths and count to ten as he pushed all thoughts of the baby to the back of his head.

"Erik?" He started as a hand rested on his shoulder and he turned to face Christine whilst simultaneously creating another foot of distance between them. The brunette looked taken aback at the reaction and his weary heart twisted as he noted a flash of hurt in her eyes but she said nothing of it. "Madame Giry suggested I bring your tea up. No one's seen you all day."

He swallowed thickly as the green eyes looked him up and down with concern. Erik knew he must look a state having not bothered to change from his robe since the encounter in the kitchen. "Thank you." Even those two words were a struggle for him, his voice cracking.

Christine tried to move forward but instinctively he made to move back and maintain the separation. "You said you were well this morning," Her voice did not falter as his had. "You lied."

He frowned at the accusation. "Why on Earth would you say that?"

This time when she edged toward him he made no attempt to get away and she stopped so there was still a little space between them. "I know you," Christine's voice was hushed and worried as her pupils flickered up to take in the bruise-like bags beneath his eyes. "Please tell me what's wrong?"

Erik looked down into the shining green eyes at the whispered plea. He hadn't really had time to reflect upon how she'd altered from when they last met, but then he hadn't expected seven months to change her. Christine's cheeks no longer had a healthy flush and her own dark marks stood out harshly under her bottom eyelids. She'd been aged, not unattractively he thought, but prematurely so and it was sad to think that one so young felt burden so great as to bring about physical effects. It was now as he looked down at her that he realised he couldn't bring himself to hold a grudge against her – he never could. Christine held his heart in spite of it all.

He took a breath and slowly moved a trembling finger to brush her own with a sad smile on his face. She clutched onto his hand in response and gave it a reassuring squeeze, urging him to tell her what grieved him. It took Erik two attempts before the words finally came out: "I know."

His angel just frowned with a bemused expression and used her free hand to lightly grip his forearm, holding his gaze as she questioned: "You know what, Erik?"

"I know about _her_," At that her expression dropped to one of horror and he couldn't say he was surprised, he'd half expected himself to erupt into a rage. "Christine?" He whispered, moving his arm out of her grasp and gently tucking a curl behind her ear. "Please don't be afraid."

At his words the woman's face crumpled and a few stray tears escaped her. If he were a man more accustomed to people, Erik might've embraced her but this was perhaps pushing his boundaries. "I wanted to tell you," Her voice was shaky and she no longer looked him in the eye, instead focused on the wall behind him. "But I couldn't – I had a husband and a home and I couldn't risk you coming back here, not after last year…" Christine inhaled deeply in an attempt to control her emotions before suddenly taking a turn and pushing him away much to his surprise and jabbing his chest with an accusatory finger. "You left! If you hadn't of left, I wouldn't have married him! I wouldn't have hurt him like this!"

"I had to," Erik's voice was soft but there was a deadly undertone to it. "We both know the police were after me, I had to get out of Paris…"

"And I would've come too!" She cried desperately and it felt like a knife to his chest. "If you'd waited till I stirred, if you'd bothered to wake me and ask me yourself I could've come with you all." Christine's whole body was now trembling as she sobbed and all of her thoughts and fears from the past months flooded out of her. "And instead you decided for me, decided I had to stay, had to marry Raoul, had to be trapped in this horrible situation! And even after all of that, even now…" All her anger evaporated and the green eyes had a hopeless look as she wrapped her arms around herself, bottom lip still trembling. "Even now I can't hate you for it. Because every single day, every time I thought of you it was never about how utterly livid I was at you for leaving… I just wanted you to come back."

Erik tried to process everything she said to him, the realization that his pining for her was all in vain, that he might've spent these past months with his Christine if he'd only asked was all too much. Feeling his knees begin to give way he stumbled to sit heavily on his bed as his vision began to blur. He heard her footsteps as she moved to crouch in front of him, clearly calmer now she'd got everything off her chest, and rested one hand on his knee.

"I've missed you," She whispered with a small smile. Erik snorted, head in hands, unable to believe her as always. Moving carefully so as not to startle him she reached for his mask with her free hand but did not go further than grasping the bottom edge. He looked up at her and his pale eyes swam with fear before he nonetheless gave a slight nod of consent. Christine slipped one thumb under and gradually she peeled the mask from his skin, the porcelain partially stained from where he'd slept in it. Her other arm extended up to slip his dark wig off at the same time and all of a sudden Erik was left feeling exposed. She lay the items down on the bed beside him and then simply looked at him, no horror or disgust in her expression, only acceptance. Her left hand moved up to stroke his cheek but before she reached the broken skin he'd grabbed her wrist.

One boney finger stroked her now empty ring finger and his gaze was mistrusting as he seemed to ask for an explanation. "Raoul took the rings when I visited him this morning," She took his hand in both her own and lightly stroked his knuckles with her thumb. "I told him the truth. He told me I was free to leave." There was a pause before she asked: "How did you know?"

Erik didn't have to ask what she meant. "The eyes. Not a person in this world can forget their eyes, not one person I've met has such pale eyes as myself. After that I took a closer look and found more. It was an informed guess."

Christine smiled. "They were the first thing I noticed last night. She's so perfect-"

"Like her mother," The words slipped out before he could stop himself. Her green eyes snapped up to his face with surprise and his free hand began to play with the bottom of one of her curls on her shoulder, unable to meet her gaze as his cheeks het up. "I shouldn't have said that."

"I'm flattered you did," She tipped his chin up, forcing him to look at her. "But you and I are not as dissimilar as you might think – perhaps she is perfect, but I'm not." Her index finger stretched up to cover his lips before he could protest. "If I were perfect, I would've have admitted to myself sooner that I…"

Erik shook his head and the corners of his lips turned up as he murmured: "You don't have to say it-"

"I want to," She took his face in both hands and leaned up to press a kiss to his forehead. Christine then shifted so she was just beside his left ear and muttered the emotions she'd been longing to confess. "I love you, Erik."

It was he who now shed a few tears, his smile broader than she'd ever remembered it being and the brunette couldn't help but laugh at his delight. "I really do! I love you!" She jumped up, pulling him up with her and wrapping her arms tight around his waist with her head pressed flush against his chest and she continued to giggle with joy. Erik brought his own arms to enclose around her, his large hands resting at the bottom of her spine as he silently wept into her curls overcome with happiness. She pulled back, arms still wrapped around him, her radiant smile beaming up directly at his unmasked face; "I love you."

"I love you too," His voice was thick with emotion and he moved one hand up to cup her cheek. "I've never stopped."

"Even when you guessed about Isobel?"

Erik slowly shook his head; "How could giving me a daughter make me love you less?"

And with that Christine finally did what she been daydreaming about for months on end – her coral lips pressed against his own bloated ones and for the first time in a long time she felt whole.

%%%

_And I'm sorry to tell you all, but that's the end! Depending on what you all want there may or may not be an epilogue. I've loved writing these two but I'm afraid my shipping of E/C as anything but AU died out a while ago which made this a difficult project to continue, hence why I started in 2011 and we're still here 3 years later! Thanks to everyone who has stuck with this story through high and low points, I write for fun so I'm aware some chapters may not be as good as others etc. but the fact you've all continued reading has meant a great deal to me and I want to thank you all for it, it really does mean a lot._

_Anyway, drop me a PM or write in a review whether you're for or against the epilogue. :)_


	20. Epilogue

_**December 25**__**th**__** 1902**_

The harsh British weather was as unforgiving that Christmas as it had been all winter, snow continuing to fall heavily from the sky whilst a bitter wind seemed to make the thick storm of flakes move in all directions. The barren landscape was enveloped in a blanket of white disturbed only by the sturdy structure of Coralline Manor, its grey stone walls impenetrable to the cold.

A warm yellow glow seeped out of one of the downstairs windows as a welcoming fire burnt in the hearth, two small figures hunched beside it with eyes blinking rapidly in an attempt to fight off sleep. To the left side of the fire there was a worn, burgundy armchair in which sat a young woman with an unruly mop of dark curls pulled into a neat up-do, her ice-blue eyes staring intently at the dancing flames as she played with the peach material of her skirts. Beside her in a similar seat sat a boy of around seventeen years, his brunette curls slightly lighter than hers and his eyes the colour of grass.

Beyond this sat their mother on a matching sofa who fondly stroked the chocolate ringlets of the son who's head rested in her lap, her other arm loosely encircling his sister as she absent-mindedly hummed to them. The only other seat in the room was a large, mahogany rocking chair to the right of the fireplace in which sat the man of the house and the youngest of the brood.

Erik lazily rocked himself back and forward whilst taking care not to wake the toddler in his arms, smiling as he heard the muffled snoring from his three-year-old son begin to ebb. The room remained quiet and he hoped to keep it that way, if only for a little while longer, after the festivities of the day had taken their toll. He was getting too old for the crack of dawn wake up call, the rush to get to the presents, the snowball fights in the garden whilst Christine pottered about the kitchen roasting vegetables and seeing to the turkey – but this peaceful company at the end of the day made it all worthwhile.

His gaze strayed to watch his oldest, Isobel, as she curled her legs up under her on the other side of the room whilst wrapping her arms around herself and continued to watch the dancing feathers of light. He could still remember when it had only been himself, Christine and Isobel that first Christmas at Coralline Manor. Isobel's first Christmas, 1882, had been spent at the Girys' Paris townhouse where she'd been born, for her mother had been in the middle of annulment proceedings and needed to stay to oversee them. As such Christine had felt they ought to make a proper holiday of it the following year when they'd settled into the Manor, feeling guilty though Erik had assured her their daughter would have no recollection of it all. Nonetheless that first year had set the standard for every Christmas that followed and she dutifully prepared the full dinner and trimmings for four o'clock in the afternoon on the dot each and every time, the quantities growing along with their expanding family.

He wasn't sure how they'd ended up with quite so many children, now he thought about it. He'd always assumed he would end up alone so Erik himself hadn't had any prior thoughts of offspring, Christine on the other hand had felt the need to surround herself with them in order to give them the unconditional love and care she'd been robbed of as a child. In a way she saw it as a sort of therapy, a way to come to peace with her past and who was he to deny her that?

As he looked around at their faces now he could recall Christine telling him when she found out about each one of her pregnancies, remembered each nervous wait in this very rocking chair as she gave birth just a ceiling away from him, could even picture the first time he saw each of those seven little faces staring back at him.

"Papa," The soft call from the mop of dirty-blonde curls in his lap caught his attention. "Is it morning already?"

Erik chuckled as he raised one long finger, no longer the boney digit it had once been thanks to his wife's nurturing, to stroke his son's rosy cheek. "Not quite, Rémi – but I think it's high time you went to bed, hmm?" The little boy tried to shake his head in protest but a wide yawn suggested otherwise. Gently he shifted so he had his son in one arm before pushing himself up with the other arm and heading toward the door.

"Speaking of bed, I think it's time you all headed up as well," Christine spoke, gaining a groan from the two forms that had been lounging on her as she stood to join her husband. "Henri, Élodie come on now – I won't have you sleeping on the sofa all night." Her attention turned to the silent girls sat in front of the fire. "Colette? Amélie? You were both up well before dawn this morning, you must be exhausted."

"No, Maman, we're not!" The younger girl whined, her dirty-blonde hair falling in wisps across her face as she spun round. "If we have to go to bed now then Christmas will be over!"

"Now, now Colette don't argue with your mother," Erik chipped in, having remained in the door way. He tipped his head in the direction of the stairs and raised an eyebrow. "Up to bed, all four of you." He tried to remain looking stern as the four reluctantly shuffled past him and up the stairs, Christine flashing him a grateful smile as she followed behind them. Before leaving, he quickly turned to Isobel and Gustave, their two oldest, who'd remained seated: "We'll be back down in a minute."

Gaining a nod from both, he then carried Rémi up the stairs and turned right down the corridor and through the door at the very end. Henri was alone in the room pulling his night shirt on with a bleary-eyed expression and then stood by the sink (he'd installed them in all the bedrooms when they'd first moved over to the manor permanently) to brush his teeth. Setting Rémi down on his feet, Erik reached under the boy's pillow to pick up the small, red and white striped night shirt and knelt down in front of his son. He delicately undressed the young boy before pulling the night clothes over his tousled hair and gently directing him to the sink to help him brush his teeth. Soon both boys were in their respective beds and Erik lightly tucked each of them in, pulling the blankets up to their shoulders as Christine had taught him when they first got Isobel to sleep in a bed.

"Goodnight, Papa," Henri murmured as he snuggled deeper into his pillow, his dark curls spread across the cotton. Smiling, Erik planted a kiss to his son's forehead and whispered his response before repeating the routine with Rémi and quietly leaving the room, switching the light off and pulling the door to behind him.

He walked back down the corridor a little way to the next door along and entered to find Christine, Amélie and Colette in hysterics, all sat on the floor whilst Élodie skipped around them in her petticoats, tossing her chocolate coloured hair whilst pouting her lips and claiming this was how Isobel had shown her a 'proper lady' behaves. He leant against the doorframe with a bemused expression before his youngest daughter's green eyes spotted him and she pointed up, stopping her impression to excitedly yell: "Papa would agree with me!"

He laughed as he responded; "I can't say I've ever met a proper lady if that's how they act," he grinned and knelt in front of Élodie, whose face crumpled into one of defiance.

"But Issy said so, Papa! She showed me how they walk and everything," By now the three other occupants of the room had calmed down and were now watching the exchange.

"I bet that's not how she was walking!" Colette chimed in, never at a loss for words.

"It is!" Élodie retorted sticking her tongue out at her older sibling.

"Enough now, the pair of you," Christine lightly scolded. "Finish getting changed for bed now please, I think we've all had enough excitement for one day."

"Honestly, you're both such children," Amélie sighed dramatically as she set about getting out of her day attire.

"Oh please, you're only thirteen – you're a child too!" Colette answered in good humour as she slipped on her pale pink night gown and sat on her bed as she began to brush her fine, golden locks.

Erik sat beside her and took the brush from her hands to take over. "I think your mother told you to stop this bickering - _all_ of you."

"I did stop Papa!" Élodie protested as she stepped up to the sink and allowed her mother to brush her hair whilst she did her own teeth.

"I know you did, ma petite," He spoke softly as he focused on the task at hand, checking out the corner of his eyes to ensure Amélie was doing as she was told – not that he needed to worry, she was always the better behaved of the girls.

It was around five minutes before he was pulling the blankets up and pressing chaste kisses to each of the girl's cheeks, smiling as each of them cheerily bid him goodnight. Élodie clung to his arm as he got up to leave, begging him to stay and sing for them – the other two joining in with her pleas once they'd started. Christine slipped out the room, off to say goodnight to the boys no doubt, and so Erik sat and stroked his young daughter's hair as he sang the lullaby he'd used on each of his seven children since they were babies. It only took a few bars before Élodie had drifted off and soon enough he heard the deep, regular breathes coming from the other two beds as well.

Peeling the small fingers from his wrist, Erik quietly left the room after stealing one final glance at his daughters. Christine was just emerging from the boys' room at the end of the corridor and smiled as she came over to him, his arm slipping round her waist whilst he pressed a kiss into her curls. He could see the strands of silver that were starting to creep into the chocolate-y tones.

"I don't know how you manage to get them all to calm down, you know," She spoke softly so as not to wake any of the children. "I always seem to end up in fits of laughter for one reason or another when I'm putting Élodie to bed."

Erik pulled back so he could look into the pale green eyes that glistened in the half light of the hall. "I suppose I'm just the better parent." He remarked sarcastically, earning a light slap to his chest as he grinned.

The two headed back downstairs together and found that Isobel had moved to lounge along the length of the sofa, whilst Gustave remained in the same seat as before, and the two were in companionable silence. Erik made to return to his rocking chair and once he was settled he allowed his wife to perch on his knee, her right arm draped around his neck so her hand could lightly caress his scarred cheek. Since moving to England Christine had managed to convince him to stop wearing the mask inside the house and whilst he'd been worried as to his young daughter's reaction, Isobel hadn't even noticed the difference. The rest of them hadn't ever known him to wear the garment around the house and as such it was only when they went out into the city that he wore the mask around his family. It was such a simple thing, to be able to walk undisguised amongst people, and yet it was something he'd never experienced till then – near to twenty years on and he couldn't imagine life without it.

At the touch of her other hand on his chest he looked up into Christine's face and noted all the lines and creases that had come as she aged, none of which took away from her beauty. Erik couldn't help but move his head to plant a kiss on the soft fingers that rested against his face, causing Christine to giggle.

"Oh, please stop," Isobel cringed, one perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised as she stared at her parents. "I should be able to relax in my home without having to watch my parents act like giddy young lovers."

"What do you mean act like? Youth is all in the head, my dear," Erik winked causing his daughter to snort, her lips smirking as her eyes returned to the fire. He couldn't help but notice the echoes of himself in the gesture, as he often did when it came to their oldest. Early on it was clear she'd seemed to inherit a lot of Erik – his sarcasm, his quick wit, his short temper, his intelligence in particular had helped her flourish as a child, able to hold a simple conversation at one year old.

Of course Isobel also harboured a love for music like both her parents, as did all their children – how could they not when growing up around it. Isobel was the first to master the piano but Gustave was fast behind her, in spite of being three years younger. All seven of the children knew how to coax a few simple tunes out of the old baby grand Erik had managed to squeeze into his study downstairs, even three year old Rémi, but it was Élodie who'd taken an interest outside of the instrument and the vocal lessons both Christine and himself gave the children, pleading with her father to teach her the violin till he'd eventually given in and bought her one for her seventh birthday that year.

"Right," Isobel pushed herself up from the settee with a gaping yawn before lightly rubbing her eyes. "I think it's time I called it a night – got to be up early if you're taking me into London for the day, Papa." The blue eyes that matched his own gleamed in anticipation for the annual trip, a tradition he'd started when Gustave had first been born to stop Isobel from becoming jealous of the attention the baby garnered.

"Seven thirty at the latest – I don't want to get caught in the late morning rush," he responded as his daughter came to press a kiss to his cheek.

"Yes, yes – as you wish, though it's hardly my fault if I'm late, after all looking this good takes time," She joked before giving a wave from the doorway. "I'll see you in the morning! Goodnight Maman." Her eyes travelled to her brother who'd slumped over in the chair and was breathing deeply. Rolling her eyes, Isobel moved back into the room and gently shook his shoulder to get the boy to stir. "Your back will be as bad as father's if you sleep there."

With that she slipped out the room quickly followed by Gustave who sleepily bid his parents goodnight, leaving them alone together. Christine leant down to whisper in his ear: "Perhaps it's time we went upstairs as well, especially if you're going to be up early." Erik agreed and said he'd be up in a moment, watching her go before he tended to the fire, putting it out and ensuring the embers all burnt out.

He dragged his weary bones up the staircase, being careful not to make too much noise in the otherwise silent house. Turning left and pushing open the mahogany door to the master bedroom he saw their en-suite light was on and headed toward it without a sound. Christine stood in front of the sink staring into the mirror, her expression anxious as she leant toward the mirror and lightly stroked a finger under one of her eyes before sighing.

"You need to stop worrying about aging," Erik scolded causing her to jump and flash him a mock-angry expression before turning back to her reflection. "You're only thirty eight, after all."

"I wasn't worrying about wrinkles till you mentioned it," She peered at herself again. "I was looking at the great big bags under my eyes." He walked to stand behind her, his arms wrapping round her waist as he rested his head on her shoulder and watched their reflections. It still surprised him how great an effect Christine's acceptance of his face had had on his own attitude to his disfigurement – he'd never have guessed he'd look at his own face in the mirror without recoiling. "Erik?"

"Yes," he looked at her green eyes in the mirror and softly kissed her shoulder. There was a time when they'd first been together that he wouldn't dare lay a hand on Christine without her initiating the contact but nowadays, after twenty years and seven children together, Erik found himself more comfortable about it all.

"There is one more present I forgot to mention to you," She smiled brightly at the confused expression he gave her. Turning her head, she kissed his cheek before pressing her lips close to his ear and breathing the words: "You'll have to wait a few more months for it though."

His eyes grew wide as he spun her round to face him and looked down at her abdomen before his blue gaze returned to meet her own, the question remaining unspoken between them as she nodded to confirm it. The two embraced before Erik pressed a kiss to his wife's lips, a passionate expression of the magnitude of the love he felt for her in that moment, in every moment he spent with her. Christine returned the gesture with enthusiasm, her arms winding their way around his neck, giggling slightly at his excited response to the news.

"I thought you might not be quite so animated about it," She added when they parted to catch their breath. "You're always grumbling about being too old for it all!"

"It's all in jest," He replied tenderly, his hand cupping her cheek. "You know I love every one of our children, I wouldn't trade our family for anything. Whether there's seven, or eight, or twenty of them!"

Christine laughed at his comment, her eyes gleaming with warmth. "I knew I loved you for a reason."

And so the couple continued to embrace, trading kisses and loving words before eventually retiring to their bed and drifting off to slumber clasped in one another's arms. Erik's final thoughts as he slipped into unconsciousness, his cheek resting against her soft chocolate curls, were all of his wife, his seven children and now the future addition to their ever-growing family…

%%%

THE END

%%%

_This was possibly the most I've enjoyed writing a chapter because I loved trying to think all the little tit bits about their life together etc. and it was probably the happiest chapter I've written as well. I considered writing a bit about the Girys and Raoul, even started it a couple of times, but then I decided this worked better as a chapter without. Extra info for anyone interested:_

_Children:_

_Isobel (20) – dark hair, pale blue eyes_

_Gustave (17) – brunette, green eyes_

_Amélie (13) – dirty-blonde hair, green eyes_

_Colette (11) – dirty-blonde hair, bright blue eyes_

_Élodie (7) – brunette, green eyes_

_Henri (5) – brunette, green eyes_

_Rémi (3) – dirty-blonde hair, bright blue eyes_

_? – you decide!_

_The Girys - Madame Giry, Meg and her husband Francis (the doctor for those wondering) still live in the town house, the two women working at the refurbished Opera House whilst Francis continues as a doctor. They don't have children at the point in this point in the story, but Meg is only 38/39 like Christine so there's still time – you can make up your own minds whether they do or not!_

_As for Raoul… I can't decide whether or not he remarried, if he did it's not quite like his first marriage, his new wife, introduced to him by his sisters no doubt, is far more proper and suited to the lifestyle of an aristocrat which means she gains approval from his family more easily than Christine ever did, but that makes him feel obliged to love her rather than being in love with her. However she gets on well with his family etc. and they have a daughter (their only child) so he is grateful for that. If he didn't remarry, well I reckon he'd just have moved on with life, being a great uncle etc. to his sister's children and everything, continuing as a patron for the arts of Paris, including the refurbished Opera House. The one time he saw Christine, when she was 28, he was in London on business and spotted her in the streets, with her family (Erik and four children at that point) – he merely watched as they walked by, they didn't notice him across the road. He also eventually promotes Marie to housekeeper rather than a maid, once his old one retires, so she gets a better life as well. She remains close with the Girys, I reckon they spend holidays and such together, she becomes like another daughter to Madame Giry._

_So that's it. Thank you, each and every person that has read and persevered with this story, I apologise that it took so long to finish but I hope it was worth struggling to the end. This is the longest fic I've ever published and I'm just so grateful I've had such positive feedback from it all. Thanks from the bottom of my heart :)_


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